


Tomorrow and Tomorrow

by raven_aorla



Series: Time Out of Mind [12]
Category: 18th & 19th Century CE RPF, 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bipolar Disorder, Chapter Specific Warnings, Clinical Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Frank discussion of mental illness, M/M, Multi, Polyamorous Characters, Queerplatonic relationship, Support Networks, mention of past suicide attempts, setbacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-07-22 03:16:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 42
Words: 67,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7417462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_aorla/pseuds/raven_aorla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lafayette's returning to France, to John Laurens' distress. John is hoping to maintain the emotional stability he's worked so hard to cultivate this past year. Alexander, John's queerplatonic soulmate, is hoping to find some balance. </p><p>Meanwhile, Eliza has concluded that sharing Alexander with his Deaf boyfriend Thom is the best way to quiet his mind, Hercules is roping Night Shift into his wedding party, Ned is as calm as Lewis isn't, Martha L. tries not to coddle her brother, Pierre's becoming more than "the kid" of the group, and bad days are much more manageable when part of a full life.</p><p>(Reading Sharps Hour first is mandatory. Reading Holiday Seasons next is highly recommended. All other fics in this AU are optional for enjoying this one.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Up to You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's get a more thorough look at how John and his squad is a year later!

"Congratulations on a whole year since you checked into Vernon Psychiatric Crisis Center," Dr. Suriyendra told John the moment he sat down on the couch in her office. It was technically a year and a couple days - therapy was on Tuesdays - but John didn't quibble.

"Thanks. The party I told you about went well." John listed the people who had been present, and how at one point he got slightly overwhelmed but excused himself to the balcony. How it had worked out. How the night before, he'd euphemistically slept with Ned, and how the night after, he literally, non-sexually slept with Alexander.

"Ned didn't mind?"

"Ned's done the same thing with Alexander a bunch of times. He's pretty unflappable. I remember when I mistakenly thought his first name was 'Edward', since that's the only name I've heard of being shortened that way. Turned out it's 'Eduardo', and I was so embarrassed I almost fled the date. He talked me down. I overthink things."

Dr. Suriyendra smiled. "It's good that you're self-aware and have a supportive partner. Here."

He accepted the plastic container with confused gratitude. "Did you make me curry?"

"Strictly speaking, I made my family curry, but I separated out a bit for you where I put in tofu and extra vegetables instead of adding meat. I remember you became vegetarian a few months ago. It's congratulatory Mussaman curry."

"Do you give all your patients curry?"

"All my interactions with clients are confidential, you know that." Dr. Suriyendra examined the list of people he'd invited to the party. "Alexander, Lafayette, your sister, Ned, Lewis, Pierre, Adrienne, Eliza, and Hercules. That's the order you listed them in. Do you make anything of that?"

"Maybe." John clutched the container to his chest. "They've meant a lot to me this past year."

"What about in the future? In my experience, your traveling companions make a vital difference to the success of your journey."

"Journey where?" His new therapist was a gentle ray of sun into his thoughts; Angelica had been more of a high-powered flashlight. He'd needed Angelica then. He needed this approach now.

"Well." She adjusted the white noise machine, turning it up a notch. "That's up to you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Princess Sri Suriyandra of Siam was the half-Chinese mother of King Mongkut, the one who is quite inaccurately portrayed in the musical "The King and I". Her husband wrote her a love poem that devotes an entire verse to how great her Mussaman curry was.
> 
> The historical Ned Stevens was an Edward. Sorry I put you in the wrong universe for that, John, but the living past 27 helps balance it out.


	2. To Always Answer

John didn't feel equal to the vast gulf between his fetal position on the bed and his laptop on the desk. He couldn't think of how to condense his thoughts into a text message. He needed a voice right now. 

Alexander and Ned were respectively pulling sleep-deprived Hell Weekends in the face of deadlines. Alexander was doing it because he was working as a TA now and had a huge stack of papers to grade. Ned was doing it because of something about a research project on gastrointestinology that was beyond John's understanding, but was important and complicated, while also having to deal with the supremely unreasonable and incompetent Dr. Rush. Ned's forewarning-of-unavailability phone call had degenerated into a rant about Rush.

No wonder people often though Ned and Alex were related; it went beyond their appearance. Ned was Neurotypical Alexander Plus Chill. It took more to upset Ned, he was by default much more laconic, and he was more diplomatic about resolving conflict. However, when you heard him on the subject of, say, anti-vaxxers, or why Haiti was so poor compared to the rest of the hemisphere, or the misconception that stress caused ulcers, or circuses that used any animals other than well-treated dogs and horses...

Anyway, John didn't want to call them under such circumstances. They probably wouldn't answer. Ned always turned his phone off as a form of self-discipline while in a work-marathon (hence warning John), and Alexander stopped noticing any sound that wasn't a fire alarm or someone banging on his door. He usually yelled for whoever it was to go away, but Thom physically couldn't hear yelling, which forced Alexander to open the door and let him drop off food and stand unmoving until Alexander ate and took meds. This was one of the reasons Eliza supported Alexander dating him as well as her. 

He tried Lafayette. No answer. Adrienne. No answer. Likely not a coincidence, Saturday night and all.

Martian may not have been in the right time zone, and if she wasn't, John didn't want to rob her of precious new-parent sleep. They used Skype anyway, and his laptop was too far and he didn't have Skype on his phone.

He called Pierre. He couldn't breathe between the second and fourth rings, but on the fifth ring he got: "John? Is that you?"

"Yeah," John croaked.

"You don't sound good. Gimme a sec. I will call you back in less than five minutes, I promise. _Code Blue. Sorry gummy bear, I need my hands and privacy._ "

"Were you - what were you doing?" John asked when Pierre called back. He immediately wished he hadn't asked.

To his relief, Pierre neither took offense nor properly answered. "I don't safeword and tell, but Friedrich understands to always answer certain ringtones for me. You have no accurate reason to feel bad. What's wrong?"

"I had a fight with Missy. Was already depressed, but then I went and had a fight with her."

Pierre made a sympathetic noise. "You sound like you're going to cry. Which can be worth doing, but either way I'm here. Do you want to talk about it, or do you wanna talk about something else, or do you want to hear some cool stuff I learned about the Iroquois language family?"

"She started filling out my, my, well, not just for me, ours I guess, our forms for health insurance, and I said she should have asked me to fill out my own rather than just going ahead, and it turned into this whole thing where I said it doesn't matter if I'm damaged, I'm still her big brother and not her kid, and she said it wasn't about me being supposedly damaged. I asked what it was about, then. She said she needed to be sure it got done right, and she was better equipped since she's a medical professional. Then I'm like oh, you don't think I can function as an adult well enough to put down my own health information? She said that's not what she meant, that every day she's terrified she'll find me hurt or dead, she can't let that happen by relaxing for a moment, and I'm like that's sweet of you but treating me like I'm incompetent doesn't do much for that goal, and she looked at me like I'd punched her in the gut, Pierre."

"Oh, my excessively pure cupcake..."

"Cupcake?"

"I don't like cinnamon," Pierre replied cryptically. He also said, "RIVER CHARGE", but that was unlikely to have been on purpose.

"I'm hiding in my room."

"It's okay to need time to cool off. When I have issues with my friends or partners, we take a day apart to process first. I get incoherent easily when I'm stressed, but it seems to help them, too."

"I could only spend a whole day in here if I were to survive on chewing gum and three-quarters of a pear. At least I have an en suite bathroom." John pulled the blankets over his head, his phone lighting up the resulting cave.

"I've had similar fights with Friedrich. In underlying emotion, I mean. He got on my case for riding my bike without a helmet one time. One time. I have a scar my hairstyle covers up, from rollerblading into a pole when I was a kid, which he wanted to know about when he discovered it for Reasons. It's okay to have a negative reaction to being held too tightly - river charge - as it were."

Missy was doing something in the kitchen. John knew there was no way she could hear him. He was afraid she could here him. "I weaponized her worst pain just to make a point. What does that make me?"

"Someone in extremely good company."

"People baby you a lot, I've noticed." Including John, he realized with a mixture of dry humor and guilt. "Is that how you know that?"

"Sometimes it's nice to be taken care of, but sometimes I get frustrated, yes. Comes of being neurodivergent, spending most of my time with people older than me, looking fragile, and frequent recreational submissiveness. My worst moment ever was telling my mother that it's not my fault she couldn't bring my older siblings to term. Sometimes I'm back to square one in forgiving myself for that. Gimme another sec." There was a soft rustle as Pierre put the phone down, the sound of him calling out something along the lines of _hey, look, I'm waving, if you prefer not to undo the rest of this, then help me adjust these pillows, please._

A moment later, Pierre said, "Resume!"

"I really can call back another time."

"You really don't have to. He's listening to Fall Out Boy with noise-canceling headphones on, so that he can't hear me talk to you, yet he can avoid leaving me unattended while in such a...complicated situation. It's hilarious. Imagine him lip-syncing 'My Songs Know What You Did in the Dark'."

That was pretty funny, John had to admit. If it was mildly funny while he was both depressed and distressed, he would laugh out loud thinking about it the next time he felt better. At least these days he believed he'd feel better eventually. Very eventually.

"You can let him take the headphones off and listen to you tell me about the Iroquois language family."

"You sure?"

"I don't want to talk about myself anymore."

Pierre went on for just under ten minutes before Missy knocked. "Jack, hey. Um. I'm ready to either talk about it over tamales, or not talk about it over tamales, or talk or not talk about it over something other than tamales that we happen to have that is edible. Like that minestrone you didn't finish."

"Tamales are pretty great," Pierre said. "As is minestrone, though I prefer bisques and chowders."

"I'll be there in just a moment, save my plate," John called out.

"Take care, John."

"Thank you so much. Have fun with whatever I interrupted."

A voice that was not Pierre's said, "We will. My best wishes to you also." Friedrich hung up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GENTLE READERS, today I learned some cool things about Edward "Ned" Stevens.
> 
> \- His family took in Alexander Hamilton after his cousin died, but they did not take in James Hamilton, Jr. This added credence to the popular rumor that Alexander was Ned's secret half-brother. They reportedly looked very similar and had similar interests.
> 
> \- Stevens finished his medical degree at King's College in 1774; in the process, he became the first person to isolate gastric juices and prove recent theories about how digestion works.
> 
> \- During the yellow fever epidemic in Philadelphia, he got in a huge fight with Dr. Benjamin Rush, a prominent physician, over Stevens' assertion that bloodletting did more harm than good. He successfully treated both Alexander and Eliza of yellow fever using cold baths, wine, and willow bark (as in, what aspirin comes from). Hamilton became a proponent of this treatment.
> 
> \- He was later called upon to serve as Consul General (roughly the same as an ambassador) to Haiti. He helped suppress piracy, make trade deals with Britain, and nudge Haiti towards revolution. He worked with both John Adams and Thomas Jefferson without notable trouble.
> 
> \- The Secretary of State he served under, Timothy Pickering, believed that Stevens and Hamilton must have been half-brothers, having carried their resemblance into adulthood.


	3. Do Me a Favor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has a mostly-practical conversation with Alexander's boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of homophobia, tokenism, being outed, and Columbus not being the greatest guy.

**anon-John**  
Alexander doesn’t use this Slack channel, right?

 **PinckPanther**  
No, this is the one Eliza and I use to plot against him. ;) Welcome. What’s up?

 **anon-John**  
I saw on fb that you’re flying down south to visit your family on the friday of Columbus day weekend, but Alexander said there’s a bit of a snag with the journey back.

 **PinckPanther**  
Yeahhhh. I kinda got photographed at a small pride event with the bi colors painted on my face and Liz kissing my cheek and holding my hand while I was kissing Alex who had the polyamory symbol on HIS face (as in the heart with the infinity sign), and I just found out some news site put it in a collage.

 **anon-John**  
motherfuckers

 **PinckPanther**  
Alexander sicced his roomie Patrick Henry on them, since Alex is busy himself. Outsourced rage. Pat’s good at righteous anger and I regularly ply him with food and beer

 **anon-John**  
doesn’t matter if you were at an event. you're not a public figure and not everyone comes out to everyone at once

 **PinckPanther**  
My sentiments. It’s even worse because they’re singling Liz and I out for being “inspirational”. Alex’s thing is not that well known, but mine is unfortunately sort of obvious to everyone who’s met me, and in the pic Liz is wearing a hearing aid you can see plain as day. Unlike me she can use one, and sometimes she does - at public events or new places but not in daily life. Anyway, surprise visit home to gather up some personal treasures and break the news before the news breaks. Then I’ll flee until they’ve had time to calm down.

 **anon-John**  
I am so sorry for being off-topic, but are you and Alexander seriously each dating an Asian-American woman named Elizabeth?

 **PinckPanther**  
Liz is of Korean origin. Eliza is of Chinese. Meanwhile, you’re dating someone who looks incredibly like Alex, and it was Alex’s idea. 

**anon-John**  
I don’t think that was his reasoning when introducing us. Point taken, though. My more relevant question is, how are you doing the journey back?

 **PinckPanther**  
I would rather not spend all that money to fly back if I might be without parental largesse for awhile. They will come around eventually. It might take a month or two. Or four. I can’t do any sort of car rental thing for the way back without my extra wide rear view mirror and so on to adapt it (those are hard to carry on a plane).

 **anon-John**  
This dovetails with a plot Lafayette and I have been working out, with some input from Pierre. Lafayette’s no longer got a regular schedule so he can devote himself to upcoming return to france :( , and though pierre’s college doesn’t close for it, his professors are very lenient about absences that monday. 

**anon-John**  
meanwhile Lewis told me not to come into the office bc he’ll be busy helping Sacagawea with her annual protest, which I believe will involve singing, “Columbus sailed the ocean blue, hurrah, hurrah, he gave the natives smallpox, too, hurrah, hurrah” and holding a sign saying REMEMBER THE TAINO

 **PinckPanther**  
The Taino?

 **anon-John**  
the people Columbus first encountered upon landing. I hadn’t heard of them either. Goes to show.

 **PinckPanther**  
-winces- 

**anon-John**  
Anyway, we’ve wanted to pay Alexander a visit, all of us at once, for some time now. Flying just to Reagan or Dulles airport near DC would be much more affordable, right? If you can get there before noon on Saturday, it’ll be easy for us to grab you on our road trip north. 

**PinckPanther**  
I think that could work, yeah.

 **anon-John**  
Alexander knows we plan to get there Saturday night and leave Monday morning. He doesn’t know that Lafayette finally got his hands on two tickets for a Sunday matinee of _Bly_. He’s the only one of us with sufficient wealth and charisma and it still took more than a year and a half of trying.

 **PinckPanther**  
Everyone says the soundtrack is great. I read the lyrics. They’re good lyrics. It’s neat that "Helen Keller" and "Annie Sullivan" stand to the side to interpret, but if there are only two tickets they should go to someone more “Bly-ndsided” than I am.

 **anon-John**  
One’s for Alexander, and he theoretically gets to pick who gets the other one, but I think Pierre will cling to his ankles and beg. It’s Lafayette’s sorry-I’m-abandoning-you present to him. 

**PinckPanther**  
Then what does Pierre get as his?

 **anon-John**  
I was told I didn’t want to know.

 **PinckPanther**  
And you?

 **anon-John**  
It's a surprise, apparently.

 **PinckPanther**  
oooh

 **anon-John**  
Do me a favor, though.

 **PinckPanther**  
Sure thing.

 **anon-John**  
I heard your folks live in Charleston. Is that right?

 **PinckPanther**  
Not in, exactly, but roundabouts. Easy commute. Your father lives there. I know. 

**anon-John**  
didsomon tell ou

 **PinckPanther**  
It’s not that hard to put two and two. Mayor Henry Laurens. I read his campaign platform. I am so sorry. I am so so so sorry.

 **anon-John**  
Can you physically print out a letter I will email you, please, and send it from somewhere within the city? I want to send him a letter but want maximum confusion and minimum information of my wheareabouts.

 **PinckPanther**  
You gotta put some thought into the letter, and the sooner the better, but I will help you get your own back. 

**anon-John**  
<3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided it wouldn't be realistic for ALL of them to get to see Bly, lol, but the two biggest fans will. 
> 
> Why were what seems like 80% of famous people around that time named John, Thomas, George, James, Martha, or Elizabeth? Argh!


	4. Real Adult Office

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to open up to prompts! If there is something set in this AU that you want to see, let me know in a comment. Depending on number and nature, I might weave them into this fic or post them as a separate bundle. I am happy to hear any prompt - there might be some things I just can't write, but I will still be happy to have heard from you. I realized that I've always wanted to try that with this series.

John arrived at the office ten minutes early, as he’d left home half an hour early just in case the Metro acted up again. He’d grown fond of this office. 

It had a Real Adult Office portion, with a coat rack and desk and enough chairs for both of them and up to three guests, and a little coffee table with National Geographics and copies of Lewis’ books and so on. And a potted fern. 

There was also a tiny bathroom John decorated with various doodles both of them made when they got stuck on something - the first few were actually prompts from Peggy Schuyler in Art Therapy. They used the backs of pages they were going to recycle anyway. John’s favorite was Lewis’ depiction of a pair of shabbily-dressed grizzlies being sad because they couldn’t fish clothes out of one of those huge donation bins that looked a lot like Parks System bear-proof dumpsters. 

Then there was the Real Work Office: a big window with blinds, a repurposed kitchen table and four chairs around it, a separate desk to act as a home for a desktop computer and its trimmings, a filing cabinet, a misc cabinet, a mini fridge, a microwave, a locker where John kept his drawing tablet when he didn’t want to take it home, their very own Couch of Emotion, and a low table with a thriving aloe plant. In the corner, another potted fern. John liked ferns. 

Might as well sweep the floor. Lewis kept insisting John didn’t have to, that they could hire someone, but Lewis always forgot, and anyway John preferred to keep this as safe and as private a space as possible. He put his stuff down next to the couch and fetched the broom and dustpan from the closet in the bathroom. The repetitive motion helped him think more smoothly about the ongoing question of the letter he’d have Thom send to his father for him.

“Sorry I’m late,” Lewis said when he arrived, nearly fifteen minutes past nine. He was more often late than not - his dyslexia went beyond words on a page to having trouble with left and right, and thus often making wrong turns. Even when going familiar places. He’d explained that of course he loved hiking, camping, and canoeing, everyone knew that, but he often needed rescue if he tried to do it by himself. 

“It’s fine,” John assured him, picking up the dustpan to empty it. He could do the rest later when he needed a break from brain work. “Your arrival time might not be punctual, but it’s consistent with your standard lateness. It's not accurate; it's precise.”

Lewis gave him a crooked, closed-mouth smile at that, his ‘I recognize this is friendly banter and I appreciate the thought’ smile, which meant that he was still in a depressive phase, though at least close enough to the surface to want to engage. He’d dressed in business casual, too. When he was really depressed he dressed in old jeans or even sweatpants (that was the worst) and shirts that looked tired and baggy. When he was fine, he dressed in new jeans and clean shirts that fit him. When he was a little depressed but not this much, he dressed business formal, possibly to give himself a boost. Of course, meeting with someone else or going somewhere with a dress code threw off the the system, but it was a good yardstick in general.

John was depressed today too, but it was the grayish coolish kind, not the aching hollow kind, the equivalent of being able to limp rather than having to crawl through your day. He put away the broom.

After hanging his jacket and hat on the coat rack, Lewis said, “I got a handwritten postcard. Would you mind taking a look?”

“Sure.” The level of trust required to simply hand over mail still boggled John, but Lewis lived alone and only ever mentioned four friends and a godson when it came to loved ones. No wonder the fight with William Clark had been so catastrophic. Now wonder Lewis improved so much when they patched it up. 

On one side, it was a picture of Baltimore Harbor. On the other, it said, “Got in trouble for getting personal. Gone solo. onlyamomentarypang.net if you still want to talk. Best, J.A.”

Lewis looked ready to dissolve into a scarlet mush of mortification. John just handed the postcard back and said, “Speaking of correspondence, PBS wants to film you saying serious things about the plight of the Chesapeake box turtle. Part of a bigger piece. I reformatted the email in Verdana, 1.5 spacing, and I saved it to the ‘friendly’ folder. Have you had a chance to look?”

“Um.” 

“Yes, I’m curious. No, I’m not going to ask. Box turtles.”

Lewis shook himself and tucked the postcard into his briefcase. “Specifically Chesapeake box turtles. I’ll fire up the computer and look. Did you know that they aren’t just ill-advised pets, but tragically so? They never stop trying to go home. Never.”

“Say it exactly like that when they film you, and people will be sniffling and reaching for their wallets.” John would not ask. He would not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a reference here to one of the non-prerequisite fics in the series, but all will become clear regardless of whether you've read it or not. :)


	5. Roadtrip Configurations 1/2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lafayette, John, Pierre, and Thom: part of their drive from Reagan Airport in Arlington, VA, to Columbia University, NYC.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usual disclaimer when writing my version of Thom in detail: I am not Deaf and I don't know any Deaf people personally. If I mess up, please let me know.
> 
> Chapter contains:  
> \- Vague references to ableism.  
> \- A character non-graphically planning a tattoo.  
> \- Mentions of blood loss as part of a past suicide attempt.  
> \- Indications, but no depictions, of clothed horsing around in the backseat, with very light D/S vibes.
> 
> I was going to write all five configurations in one chapter, but it started turning into an unwieldy monster and I decided to split it. Sorry, boys, you're stuck in Delaware for a bit.

When Alexander learned that the rest of the Queer Quartet were going to meet Thom in person for the first time, he sent them a list of useful things to know. Thom could have done it himself. He said in the chat group that he appreciated the gesture anyway. Like many people who needed accommodations, he got tired of constantly having to tell new people about them. A few were good etiquette for interaction with Deaf people in general. Most were for him specifically.

\- Standard procedure among the community is to tap a Deaf person on the shoulder to get their attention. Thom himself finds it very upsetting to be touched in any other way if he can't see you, regardless of your relationship with him. Honor the personal space bubble unless you're pulling him from a burning building or something. If he's asleep and doesn't respond to the shoulder tap, gently shaking both shoulders is ok. 

\- He only recently started pursuing lipreading skills in any systematic way. Wasn't a priority before he became hell-bent on joining the Foreign Service. He's pretty good but not as good as, like, his gf Liz, and nowhere near as good as in movies (which are unrealistic). As is standard procedure, start off at a normal pace unless he asks you to slow down, though crisp enunciation is nice. At his skill level, it's best to face him full on and use common words and short sentences. Limit contractions. 

__\- He might have trouble reading Lafayette's lips, just because he hasn't practiced with much of an accent range. He had trouble with an Argentinian guest lecturer, for example. He will feel terrible about it. Don't let him. Also, with any of you, he might need a repeat, or simply give up and hand you his phone to type it out._ _

__\- The text-to-speech program on his phone screws up sometimes. If it doesn't make sense, point at his phone and shrug. He will rephrase it._ _

__\- The only words he can currently speak aloud are "Deaf", "yes", "no", "help", and "fuck". I wish I could claim responsibility for the last one, but it was Liz. She can do coherent short utterances with her hearing aid in._ _

__\- Thom does *incoherent* utterances, like gasping or laughing. They sound a little weird. Roll with it. You can shush him (put a finger over your own lips) if it's important to do so. It's usually not on purpose._ _

___\- He sort of croons when he's really pleased. It's adorable._ _ _

********

__Lafayette stayed in the car so that it could idle at the curb rather than them braving airport parking. Pierre went to the bathroom. This meant John was the one tracking Thom down in the Arrivals area, Thom having helpfully texted to meet him at "the miraculously non-Starbucks"._ _

__Thom was adding a second packet of sugar to an enormous iced tea at the self-serve counter when John found him. He had a backpack on and a single carry-on size wheeled suitcase leaning against his leg. Sweatpants and a coat buttoned all wrong, stubble, slumping and tired in a way that went beyond getting up early for the flight. John tapped him on the shoulder._ _

__For a moment all Alexander's advice went out the window, because when Thom turned around John was dumbfounded - when not filtered through a shoddy webcam lens, the guy. Was. Gorgeous. As. Hell. Especially his nose and mouth, shit. What did he look like cleaned up?_ _

__John reminded himself that he and Ned had agreed that clothed cuddling and holding hands with others was fine, platonically sharing a bed with Alexander (or theoretically Missy, if needs must) was fine, and John had free rein to (politely) ogle anyone to his heart's content. Just as Ned was welcome to continue writing the self-insert fanfiction that he never showed anyone, featuring himself and various characters played by Amy Acker, who he was "a little straight for". John also reminded himself that Alexander's reaction would be gleeful and smug, and that Thom wouldn't consider it a big deal._ _

__Still though. John wanted to hide yet also wanted to keep staring._ _

__Thom tilted his head to the side and gave a puzzled wave. John waved back, took a deep breath, and held out a hand in the general direction of the suitcase handle. After receiving an approving nod he rolled it towards the exit._ _

__A few paces onwards, John heard a robotic voice say, **Thanks again. Can I sit in the passenger seat for a bit? Airplane was cramped.**_ _

__John stopped, turned, and saw Thom with his phone in one hand and the iced tea in the other, sipping and watching him. He nodded, and said quietly but with good diction, "Swap sometimes. Different reasons. Pierre cannot drive either." Thom's license forbade driving an unmodified car, and Pierre had a phobia, so the other two were going to take turns. Switching around would keep things fresh, anyway._ _

__Thom smiled and quickly typed, **Roadtrip configurations.** _ _

__

*********

___1\. John in Driver's, Thom in Passenger, French Hotties in Back_ _ _

__Pierre hugged Thom and Lafayette shook his hand before settling into the first confictuation. Lafayette clearly wanted to hug Thom as well, but Thom knew Pierre from over a year of messaging each other in Chinese as practice. He wasn't comfortable hugging someone he'd only interacted with a few times, and never one-on-one. Lafayette respected Thom's aloof body language before he got the explanation, but Thom gave it after they were all buckled in regardless, as if he didn't want to hurt Lafayette's feelings. Especially since, yep, he had more trouble reading Lafayette than the others._ _

__Thom had a pinback button with a drawing of an ear that had a big X through it. He explained that he preferred to wear it when he was traveling alone, to reduce misunderstandings. He took it off and stowed it away now. Then he stretched out his legs, drank his tea, and stared out the windows. He was clearly pensive and didn't want to interact much right now._ _

__It was better that John not talk or possibly even listen to music while navigating this part of the journey, anyway, for concentration. Once they got on the interstate things would be simpler. There were a lot of exits to contend with first._ _

__Everything was quiet for a long time. Then John heard a squeak behind him. With amused mock-disapproval he asked, "What are you doing with each other back there?"_ _

__"A more accurate question would be, 'Lafayette, what are you doing with Pierre back there?' To which I, Lafayette, assure you that we are clothed and not in danger of getting you pulled over."_ _

__"An even more accurate question would be, 'Lafayette, what are you doing _to_ Pi-eek!"_ _

__"Shhh, _cher_. Are you bothered, John? Be honest. We shall stop if it troubles you."_ _

__"Hey, it's your car. I'm fine if I don't hear anything detailed and there's no indecent exposure." John glanced at Thom, who was leaning against the door with his eyes closed (such nice eyelashes) and hugging his cup._ _

__"If you're sure, then I thank you. Adrienne gave me firm instructions not to waste any opportunities..shh, Pierre, be considerate to the driver..."_ _

__The occasional soft, helpless, but not at all unhappy noise followed. Just as well that Thom was going to stay with Liz for two nights and let Alexander and John use his bedroom, while Lafayette and Pierre would sleep on an air mattress in the living room. Everyone piling into Alexander's tiny shared apartment would be disastrous._ _

__

**********

___2\. Lafayette in Driver's, John in Passenger, Language Buddies in Back_ _ _

__John's old injuries could only let him comfortably hold a steering wheel for about an hour at a time, and he'd previously driven them from his apartment to the airport. Earlier, Lafayette had driven himself from the Washingtons' home to pick up both John and Pierre, who had spent the night on the Laurens siblings' couch after taking a train up from Fredericksburg._ _

__For the change back to Lafayette driving, they stopped at a Krispy Kreme somewhere in Maryland. They chose that place because Pierre found out that Lafayette had never been to a Krispy Kreme at the same time as the donuts were being made on the conveyor belt behind glass walls at the back of the shop. "You can't leave America without having witnessed that WHILE eating one of the newly fried and glazed ones, Laf, I won't allow it." John and Thom used the bathroom. Lafayette remembered that John liked raspberry-filled and got him one._ _

__Pierre got Thom to teach him signed nicknames for all the people they knew in common or might meet this weekend: Thumb/Thumb-Pinky (Thom), Unicorn (Alexander), Lizard (Liz), Shoulder (John), Bold French (Lafayette), Tiny Pie (Pierre), Zebra (Ned, because he was like a more realistic but still special version of Alexander), Kindest (Eliza), Wittiest (Angelica), Underrated (Peggy), and Liberty Roommate (Patrick Henry). George and Martha Washington were simply G-Wash and M-Wash, as in the letters and verbs._ _

__"I am happy they are occupied with one another," Lafayette said as this process was going on. "Pierre gets restless on drives of two hours, let alone over five, and I have never seen anyone on a friend-filled road trip so despondent as Thom."_ _

__John didn't volunteer the reason why Thom was miserable. Not his place. Instead he licked the last of the powdered sugar off his fingers and said, "About the present you are planning to give me. You realize that only hobbits give other people presents on their own birthdays, right?"_ _

__"This is a going-away present, too."_ _

__"Same principle when you're the one going away." The words stung John's tongue every time. He and Adrienne and their baby-to-be weren't leaving until after one last Thanksgiving with the Washingtons and their assorted strays, but that was way too soon._ _

__"Well, I like giving presents to those I love. This one is a surprise." Lafayette saw a dead doe that had been dragged to the side of the road to not block traffic. "Oh, deer."_ _

__"I'm sure that somewhere your English teachers are proud of your ability to make terrible puns at a moment's notice. Is it this car? Because if it is, that's very sweet of you, but no."_ _

__Lafayatte grumbled. "First, you know me too well. Second, is this a matter of dignity or a matter of self-loathing, for I respect one and not the other?"_ _

__"Neither. Practicality. I'm managing fine between sharing Missy's car and using public transport, plus I wouldn't know where to park it."_ _

__"You told me your apartment lease comes with two parking spaces."_ _

__"Yes, and subletting one of them is a nice bit of extra monthly cash for us to share." John could see the wheels sputtering in Lafayette's head._ _

__"I wasn't aware that was something a person could do."_ _

__"Yes."_ _

__"You could sell this car -"_ _

__"Stressful, and complicates taxes. Don't be frustrated, Lafayette, I have another option."_ _

__They got out on the parkway, with fewer cars immediately around them and with autumn trees on either side. Some of the tension went out of Lafayette. "Good. I want to...I want to give you everything, John, you know that, but an everything is not a thing a person can give."_ _

__"You saved my life. You saved it and you pointed me towards people who could help me sustain it. As far as I'm concerned, you're all set forever. But I know you want to give something. So I want you to pay for my upcoming tattoo. I'm sure you prefer I go to a clean place with a great artist, which I don't currently have the funds for."_ _

__"Sweet deities of no particular affiliation, get your body mods done right, let me cover it! What tattoo?"_ _

__"Ned won't be part of the tattoo itself, because I believe involving a romantic partner in a tattoo jinxes the relationship. He volunteered to help me care for the healing skin instead. I've worked it all out over the past four months. Martian's dictating the placement. Pierre's researching locations for me since he's got three high-quality tattoos and a body piercing - personal experience is a big reassurance. Missy will be my designated hand-holder during the process. The words will be in Alexander's handwriting, and Lewis will do the graphic design. It's inspired by something you said, though, and the intensity of that is why I settled things with the others first."_ _

__"Oh?" Careful. Tentative._ _

__John only continued because he knew Lafayette - unlike Alexander - could drive at the same level of competence under the influence of Feels. "Before I passed out, Laf, I heard a lot of what you said when you were keeping pressure on my gunshot wound. Stuff you babbled when you were preventing me from bleeding to death."_ _

__Pierre whispered from the back, "Bleeding to - I don't mind hearing this, but I want you to - gunshot - know I can - bleeding to - hear. Oh no, now Thom's confused about what I'm saying. Thom, Thom, this is how my Tourette's manifests some - bleeding - times -"_ _

__"I don't mind, Pierre, but I didn't mean to make you anxious. I'm done talking about the gory part, sorry." John was nervous about resuming, but Lafayette patted his knee. "I kept trying to apologize. You giggled with hysteria and said something about how it wasn't my fault I wasn't killed, for I had done everything necessary to ensure it. Then you steadied yourself a little and said you would do everything necessary to ensure I would never want to try that again. I'm going to have the words 'everything necessary' somewhere on my left side where it will mirror part of my scar tissue. It's going to be written on the shell of a box turtle. Not sure how obvious it'll be that it's a box turtle if it's black and white, but on the other hand not many people will care."_ _

__"I - John - I - _pourquoi_ \- what - you remembered - _je ne_ \- why a box turtle?"_ _

__John had thought of a few other animals as well, and discussed them with Doctor Suriyaren to find out what he wanted most. A tadpole just starting to grow legs. A manatee. A 17-year cicada. Helping Lewis prepare for his role in a documentary had clinched it, though. "They don't do well on their own. They never stop trying to find a way home. The words will remind me of you and also of what I did because of you, to get where I am. The choice of animal will remind me that I have a new home, made of, well, made of people who love me."_ _

__"That's - it's fitting, my friend, it is." Lafayette was very quiet the rest of the way to the Delaware border._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- The route I looked up to inform this story arc spends a lot of time on the George Washington Memorial Highway. XD
> 
> \- John is happy with Ned, and will continue to be their-mutual-definition-of monogamous with Ned. Sudden, inconvenient OMG HAWT AIEEE just a thing that happens sometimes, and that people can take in stride. He's also still in that zone where he's not fully used to not being numb, and it's as much about that as it is about Thom's attractiveness.
> 
> \- I don't know if there were/are Deaf American diplomats, but I know someone who worked with a blind one. The (simplified) idea behind the Foreign Service exam is that if you're an adult American and pass the exam and then the security checks, you're what they want. Thom wants to lipread to give himself an edge as an employee, not because he necessarily must in order to pass. This is all in the story bc historical Thomas Pinckney spent much of his career as a diplomat, and I already had sometime-diplomats Jefferson, Franklin, and Stevens doing other things in this AU.


	6. Roadtrip Configurations 2/2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More queer boy roadtrip!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains:  
> \- References to parental rejection due to homophobia  
> \- Brief disassociation/flashback to a non-graphic memory of a child in a nonfatal accident  
> 

3\. Lafayette in Driver's, Thom in Passenger, Vernon Veterans in Back 

They stopped at a visitor's center that welcomed them to Delaware via clean bathrooms, a drinking fountain, assorted brochures on the truly incomparable delights the state had to offer, and a lookout point with a pretty view. Four other cars were parked and the people from inside them milled around. The one staff member in sight was occupied giving a group directions to West Virginia, "How did you get that incredibly lost??" written all over her face. 

Lafayette headed straight to the bathroom. Pierre made a beeline for the brochure display and got one of each. John refilled his water bottle as well as what Lafayette called “the communal carafe”, then he went outside to get a little fresh air. He saw Thom at the lookout point, gazing into the distance and looking ruggedly sensitive. Three college-age-looking women were calling out to him, asking for him to take a picture of them, but they were out of his field of vision. 

At first John was going to offer to take the picture himself, but he didn’t want to simply do things without giving Thom choices. So he tapped Thom on the shoulder and pointed at the ladies. Thom smiled and stepped towards them, holding his hand out for the camera.

“Oh my god, sorry,” one of them said.

Thom did the “no worries” gesture and took a few snaps. He handed the camera back with a flirty grin and wink, causing many giggles.

John made sure Thom could see him well before asking, “Do you want us to alert you to our conversations? We had a few earlier. I am worried it was rude.”

Thom needed John to repeat the last sentence, then got to work typing out his reply. **Personally, I let people know when I want to be part of a group conversation. Clue me in if it’s about me or one of my partners, etc. Otherwise I actually get more annoyed constantly being bugged by well-meaning people. Thanks for asking. Don’t worry about not asking earlier. You’re still getting used to me.**

Pierre joined them. “Can you come sit with me in the back, John? I want to get your thoughts on something.”

“You mind swapping with me?” John asked Thom.

**Not at all. I want to see the trees better from here to New Jersey, anyway. Pennsylvania especially. This route, Delaware’s practically a blink.**

Then they were off again. Pierre wasted no time in getting permission to lie on his back with his head in John’s lap, hugging his own knees. “Lafayette is allowed to listen to this, but is not allowed to weigh in. I want to vent to someone I feel really close to, who I have neither directly had sexual relations with nor via transitive property, but also someone I’m out to as polyamorous pansexual homoromantic, and you’re pretty much the only one who fits.”

“What about Alexander?” John took a sip of his water, careful not to clonk Pierre’s forehead when tucking the bottle back into the seat pocket. 

“Transitive property. Taught Lafayette things."

“That was years ago,” Lafayette began.

“Shush, _cher_.” It was a perfect imitation of what Lafayette had said to him just over two hours earlier. “Also, Lafayette’s never broken up with anyone. He proposed to Adrienne with a plastic Beauty and the Beast themed ring when they were five.”

“I’ve only broken up with one person,” John said, and bit down on the ‘so far’ before it could escape. He was trying hard to walk the line between naivete and pessimism when it came to romance, after so many years of considering it one of the things he wasn’t allowed to have.

Pierre airily waved a hand. “Details. It’s still 100% more times than him. I’m not in imminent danger of breaking up with anyone, by the way. I’m just...Laf and Adri are leaving. There’s long-distance and there’s my visits to France every year or two, so it’s not doom, but they’re still leaving. Reinette’s become the mistress of some really rich guy who works in government, or actually maybe she’s with his wife too? I know his wife’s cool with it. Anyway, we’ve downgraded to strictly platonic. Which is fine. But both at once, you know?”

“I don’t know, exactly, but I’m imagining if it weren’t only Lafayette leaving, and how I’d feel if it were Lewis or you as well.” 

“You as well - gah. I’m going to move back and forth now.” By this Pierre meant switching between English and French in order to bypass the worst of his speech tics. As John understood it, the situation wasn’t that emotional distress caused the tics. It was that emotional distress impeded his ability (conscious or unconscious) to suppress the tics. Something like that, anyway. 

“Got it. Only easy words in French, please.”

“Mmhm. So Friedrich and I never made a rule that we can’t have other romantic partners, as opposed to sexual partners. That happened to be the status quo, that’s all. There’s this guy he’s been having sex with on and off. Benjy, Friedrich calls him. Or Angelface. He’s now living nearer to Friedrich than he was before. And they’ve started going on dates. I know, I know know know I have no call to be jealous -”

“Jealousy’s an emotion, and emotions have no moral value. Didn’t Angelica drill that into you, too?” John noticed that Thom was humming tunelessly to himself, but saw no reason to mention it. “What matters is what you do.”

“I knowwwww. We talked about it, and he listened, and I talked to Benjy too, and all three of us talked, and there was so much goddamn talking and I’m still. I need time.”

“That’s legit.”

Pierre thanked John with a tiny smile. “Then three weeks ago he took one of my classmates home with him. He met Will in ROTC when he was asked to give a talk about important stuff about training military officers or whatever. Will’s in some of my classes and I don’t dislike him per se, but we do get on each other's nerves a little. Then, a few days ago, I find out that Friedrich had a threeway with both of them without inviting me first. When I confronted him about it, he said he knew I’m not interested in the other two like that, so he thought it wouldn’t matter, and I said I still wanted to be in the loop, and it depends what...uh, depends on logistics. I might have wanted to be in on it. He apologized, and we...made up, to a degree, but I told I’m still not totally fine and asked if it was all right for me to discuss this with you, and for Laf to know about it.”

At some point John had started petting Pierre’s hair. Now he found the scar Pierre had told him about while supporting him after his fight with Missy, the one from rollerblading into a pole. He froze, his muscles tensing.

“John?”

If the ambulance hadn’t come so quickly -

John was in charge, it was his fault, should have stopped such dangerous climbing -

Never could go within sight of that old stone wall again -

“I’m fine. I realized my youngest brother is your age, that’s all.”

Pierre looked up at John with skeptical concern. John didn’t continue, though, so Pierre took up his thread again. “I know that Friedrich and I are good at being responsible and careful with each other’s flaws. I know that relationships don’t have to last forever, or to keep being the same kind of relationship. But sometimes I get this choking feeling and I imagine those two moving into a big house with him, and staying with him forever and ever and being his heirs, and meanwhile I run off to - we’re passing the exit to Philadelphia within the next hour, right? Philadelphia. Why not. I change my name and run off to Philadelphia and never see my Marquis again, and academia sucks me in and I die a wizened professor dude.”

Jamie was twenty now. Twenty years old, his scalp scar seventeen years old. John couldn’t be there for Jamie when he freaked out over love - if that was a thing Jamie did - but he was here, and that was something. “What if it does happen, Pierre? If you’re like me, you’ll never convince your anxiety that it’ll never happen like that, but you might be able to fill in the picture. Try this: you change your name because you want it to better match your identity in some way. You move to Philadelphia because you get an amazing job offer. You don’t see your Marquis again because you’re busy, or he’s busy, or he defines himself as something other than a Marquis. You get sucked into academia because it’s excited to have you, and you contribute groundbreaking research and analysis to your field. You die having lived a full life, with all sorts of awards and publications. Best thing is, you define yourself on your own merits, not in terms of who you’re sleeping with.”

“If you wish to be petty, imagine having your own full Wikipedia page with a big picture, and Benjamin Walker and William North only having tiny stubs most people find from clicking links in Friedrich’s, if that,” Lafayette suggested.

“I will allow that, because it’s awesome,” Pierre said. 

***

4\. Lafayette in Driver's, Pierre in Passenger, South Carolinians in Back 

They stopped for a quick lunch at a mom-and-pop cafe right over the Pennsylvania border. Thom spent his time waiting for his Reuben sandwich by playing Steamworld Heist on his Nintendo DS, which John watched with mild interest - John’s favorite band had provided much of the soundtrack and appeared in the game as NPCs. 

“You’re hardly eating,” Lafayette said to Pierre quietly, in French. “Do you dislike it? We can order other things. Don’t worry about making anyone wait.”

“I was up really late finishing all my work for the weekend, and I can’t settle down inside. It’s buzzing. Talking to John helped some, but not enough.” Pierre took a dutiful sip of soup. 

“If I could grant you peace of mind, would that be enough?”

“I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable…”

**They’re not speaking English, right?**

Everyone shook their heads at Thom, who sighed with relief and put his phone back in his pocket.

John said, in English, “Let me know what it is and I can tell you if it makes me uncomfortable. No harm, no foul.”

Pierre bit his lip and told them. To John, it fell into the “unusual, but not alarming” category. They checked with Thom. He replied, **Makes sense. Hope it works.**

So when they returned to the car, Lafayette got a soft blanket from the trunk. Pierre sat in the passenger seat, reclined it, and leaned forward a little so Lafayette could cocoon him in the blanket. Then Lafayette fastened Pierre’s seatbelt over the blanket, so that he couldn’t use his hands without disturbing the cloth. He could extricate himself if he needed to. Lafayette then got into the driver’s side and took a white handkerchief, sealed in a ziploc bag, out of the glove compartment. He wadded it up. “Remember, spit it out if you need to, and don’t let any part of it show and confuse people.”

“Green.”

Finally, Lafayette kissed Pierre’s temple and said, “Sleep.” Then he started the car.

John was fascinated to see Pierre fall asleep within five minutes. Thom typed something on his phone but didn’t press the TALK button, just passed it to John. 

**I read the letter to your father because you said I could. Wow. I don’t pretend to know the challenges you’re facing. No matter how unpleasant last night was with my family, I know they’ll come around, and even if they don’t they won’t reach that level of assholery.**

**It’s not a competition.** John didn't want to be That Guy. The More Miserable Than Thou Guy. 

Thom nodded. **My favorite was when you told him that you used to be too drained from despair to hate him, and now you’re too busy getting stronger and healthier to hate him. Oh, and the part where you threaten to do a lot of damage to his public image if he doesn’t treat your siblings well.**

 

***

 

5\. John in Driver’s, Lafayette in Passenger, Language Buddies Strike Back

Pierre didn’t wake until they were most of the way through New Jersey. Lafayette decreed that Pierre should move to the back now that he was awake, because he was “so cute that I don’t want to be tempted to things illegal in New Jersey.” Pierre called him a lying flatterer. He seemed much more relaxed now.

Thom wanted Pierre next to him for the last stretch anyway, because he wanted to try another round of “Simplified Chinese Character I Spy”, where they wrote descriptions of things outside the window and the other person had to point at the thing. When they were navigating the final few streets of Manhattan, Thom needed to be in the back so he could more easily communicate directions with the person next to him. 

They stopped for gas. Pierre insisted on paying for it, since at John’s last birthday he’d pledged to pay John’s travel costs when they got around to visiting Alexander. “I was envisioning train tickets when I said that, but let me use a concrete measure and feel like I’m contributing to the trip as well, k?”

John drove so that Lafayette could doze a little. He’d gotten up early and had been non-stop since then. 

“New York City is too much, and that’s what I like about it,” Lafayette said when it loomed into view.

“I haven’t listened to the Bly soundtrack at all since I found out Lafayette got tickets,” Pierre said. “I want it to be as fresh for me as possible. Do you know what a sacrifice that was?”

“You seem very sure Alexander will give you the other ticket,” Lafayette teased.

“I will do anything I am physically capable of to convince him to give me that ticket. Including unlawful things.”

Thom directed them to his apartment complex near Columbia U. 

Alexander, who was waiting just outside, got comprehensively, and very lovingly, mobbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ROTC gives young people the opportunity to start military training while still being full-time students, and they get scholarship money.
> 
> Pierre's anxiously imagined future is a mostly accurate description of historical counterparts' lives after von Steuben and Pierre Etienne/Peter Stephen du Ponceau parted ways. (Not the living-in-a-big-house-together part, but the rest is as my shallow research found it, including OT3 evidence.) So is John's comforting reply, hooray. Lafayette's addition is only a mild exaggeration of the truth.
> 
> Those are not the only references in this chapter, of course, but they are the most gratuitous. XD


	7. Wrapping Myself in Kelp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bly: An American Musical tickets, lingering trauma, and significant ot(h/t)ers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for:  
> \- Reference to overdiagnosis/misdiagnosis and overmedication of children  
> \- Mention of an accurate diagnosis being trivialized  
> \- Memories of food insecurity  
> \- One friendly, entirely non-serious, jocular death threat

Liz wasn't wearing her hearing aid when she opened the door of Thom's apartment and wrapped her arms around him, but she understood Pierre's question and told him yes, please remove your shoes. She soon ended the hug and started talking with Thom, though her signs were more expansive and energetic than his slack and droopy ones. 

To give them a moment, Alexander showed the others where to drop off their bags, where the bathroom was (inside the bedroom), the already-inflated mattress in the living room that Pierre and Lafayette were to sleep on, etc. John got distracted by the huge bookcase in the bedroom. One shelf had sci-fi and fantasy novels. One shelf had how-to manuals, cookbooks, and textbooks. The remaining four shelves were crammed with books on foreign countries, foreign policy, guides to most cultures John had heard of and some he hadn't, debates on immigration, and a hefty English-Chinese dictionary.

John felt a light brush on his shoulder. It was Liz. "Some of the books are mine. My place is small. I also like comic books and comic strips. " Her "accent" was like nothing he'd ever heard, but he could understand everything she said, no problem.

He angled himself so that she could see his mouth easily. "My sister puts funny comic strips inside serious books, as a nice surprise when you're reading about things like encephalitis."

"Was that a noun?"

"Disease name. Sorry."

"No problem. I like your sister's idea. But follow me now." Liz tugged at his sleeve. 

It turned out Lafayette wanted to make sure John was there to see Alexander's reaction to a surprise pair of Bly tickets placed in his hand. Which was a moment of blank incomprehension, followed by a shriek, followed by a, "God dammit, Laf, who did you kill for these? And how slowly will Pierre kill me if he doesn't get the second one?"

Pierre put a hand on Alexander's back. "Maybe don't risk death by frustrated old friend? Seriously, though, I will get down on my knees in any sense of the phra - JE T'AIME! I WILL INSTAGRAM THIS IMMEDIATELY! ROW SEVENTEEN! AHHH!"

It took Lafayette's absurdly buff arms to keep both of them from falling over. "I could have gotten them sooner if I'd simply bought from a reseller, but no matter my love for you, I object to what they've done to drive up prices, and I know my spending too much would upset you. Then it turned out one of the weekend ushers is a man I helped with a legal status issue, after he'd already spent a lengthy unpaid internship with an organization I have an interest in. Ask for James Armistead before you take your seat, and thank him for letting me have the only tickets he's likely to see for a long time, at cost. He didn't get them for free, but he did get to buy up to two from a reserved pool. He got permission to be reimbursed. Not make a profit. Give him my regrets for not being here on one of the days he has off. Perhaps coffee after his shift ends?"

"Your life is like fiction," Liz said. She'd been translating for Thom the whole time, though given Lafayette's unfamiliar style and talking speed, it might have just been the gist.

Thom had to take the lead on kissing Alexander goodnight, as he was still too rigid with shock. Liz signed something to Alexander. He eventually nodded and thanked her. Everyone said their goodbyes before the pair left. John hoped Thom could get the solace he needed. Liz seemed like she'd be good at that. 

John was still gently depressed, though it was only a thin soap bubble between him and his happiness - a slight reduction that muted the colors rather than washed them all out. Meanwhile, Alexander was clearly exhausted from any number of the million things he wasn't done doing. 

Lafayette and Pierre ended up doing the most talking after Thom and Liz left, pleasantly carrying them through the lingering OMG-tickets part, then the sitting-around-with-beverages phase, to the eating-takeout-food segment, to the jokes-over-medications-and-tea stage, and then going to bed early.

It was implicit that John and Alexander would at most chat before they fell asleep, and that Pierre and Lafayette could do what they liked if they stayed quiet and tidy. Thom was fine with Alexander and John sleeping in his room because Alexander already did, a lot, and because John wouldn't get up to any hanky-panky.

His exact words had been: **Do whatever you want with Alexander anytime and anywhere he wants, but sex in my bed not involving me is never okay.** Which was very fair. Most people wouldn't have been so relaxed about sex in their living room. 

Alexander was asleep before John had time to climb in next to him. John dropped off quickly himself. He'd spent about seven cumulative hours in the car, which might not be much to some, but it was his record for the past two years. His shoulder ached, but not enough to keep him up.

What woke him was the frightened, grief-stricken sound of a name, and a thump. John went straight from sleep to full alert. He sat up. "Alexander?"

"M'alright," Alexander said from his position on the floor. "I was reaching, in my dream, reaching."

"In dire need of assistance?"

"No." The fallen one crawled back under the covers without any help. He was wearing flannel pajama pants and a long-sleeved shirt, but he wrapped himself in as much additional fluffiness as possible. 

John added some of his own blanket slack, as it were, to the Hamilbundle. "Is this from feeling cold, wanting sensory comfort, or doing something like sea otters sometimes do to keep themselves in place while they sleep?"

"What do they do?"

"Wrap themselves in kelp, which has roots and stays put. Though inexperienced, solitary young ones might accidentally wrap themselves in seaweed instead. Not anchored to anything. Then they wake up with no idea where they are." 

"Mostly wrapping myself in kelp. Also, I clearly wrapped myself in seaweed when I was a kid. Explains everything."

In the dim light, John could almost tell where Alexander ended and the purely cloth part of the lump began. "I heard you say 'Jim.' Your older brother?" It had really been more of a sob, but John didn't need to emphasize that part.

"Yeah, my brother. Not long after our cousin Peter hanged himself, I got scooped up by my first foster parents. They didn't take both of us. Finances, they said. You can visit, they said. Write letters, they said." 

John made a sympathetic noise and patted the bundle.

Alexander peeked out, but only enough for John to see his eyes. "The Lyme disease came later, but you know I nearly died from the same thing my mother did, right? Messed up my growth for a few years until puberty and the Washingtons helped me catch up. Then my cousin couldn't provide the healthiest food, or frankly enough food. I know he tried. I think he'd previously had issues with drugs, maybe got busted for possession at some point? I remember him tearful because of some application being denied. I think it was for food stamps. Probably decided we would be better off without him, on top of all his other motivations. Anyway, I was fragile. Jim was more robust, and he wasn't under vague suspicion of having ADD."

"So it was more urgent to place you than it was to place him," John guessed.

"Yeah." Alexander paused. "ADD and ADHD are legit conditions that affect people and benefit from intervention for people who are being affected, but overdiagnosis screws over a lot of people."

When Alexander got like this, the only responses he truly wanted were signs that you were listening and not judging him. "I bet."

"I know an adult woman with ADHD. She has a hard time getting people to take that seriously."

"Ugh."

"It's not good to give Ritalin to an actually-bipolar kid."

"I can imagine."

"Kudos to that set of parents for deciding that my disciplinary issues could just as likely be from grief and not going along with what that pediatrician said. Found a different one. They were nice people. They tried to help me keep in touch with Jim, but his new family adopted him outright and moved west, and..." Alexander pulled his hand out from his self-imposed burrito-ing just so he could make a vague gesture. "I'd probably have stayed with my first fosters if they hadn't got divorced within ten months of getting me. Then it was the group home with umpteen jillion kids named Alex, which you know about."

"One is the loneliest number, and umpteen jillion is the most excessive."

Alexander laughed at that before going back to his soft, slow storytelling. "Later I got the Yay, Hiking Is Great, It's Just a Bug Bite, Chill Out pair. Didn't hurt me but didn't listen, either, and got frustrated with me. Concentrated on their real kids. Then the Washingtons."

Then there was a tap at the door. "Are you okay?" came Lafayette's voice.

"Yes," Alexander replied. 

"May I come in?"

 _"Oui."_ Alexander wriggled his way closer to John. "Lafayette knows everything."

"I am glad you have come to agree with this fact," Lafayette said, closing the door behind him. "I need to use the toilet, but once I have, I want reassurance that you well."

"I meant about my tragic past," Alexander said.

Lafayette tucked his hair behind his ears. When he didn't tie it back, Lafayette's hair looked unnervingly like Thomas Jefferson's, John suddenly realized. "That is part of my omniscience." 

When Lafayette was in the bathroom, John said, "The kelp thing is more for lone otters. Sea otters who aren't alone might or might not use kelp, but there's something else they pretty much always do."

"What?"

"They hold hands. Well, paws."

"You are making that up. That's absurdly cute."

"I can show you pictures." 

Then Pierre drifted into the room, hair stuck out everywhere. "Need to pee. Why is there so much chatting at three AM, and what the hell happened earlier?"

"Your pajama pants are on backwards," Alexander told him. "Also I fell out of bed and this has led to a discussion about childhood drama."

"Ooh, childhood drama. Remind me to tell you about my angry debate with a bunch of monks back before I moved to America, when it's appropriate."

"Didn't you leave France really young?" John asked. 

Lafayette emerged from the bathroom, not turning the light off or closing the door. He nudged Pierre towards it. "That's part of what makes it a good story. Nightmares, Hammie?"

"John's got me."

"Sure?"

"Yes."

Lafayette didn't inquire further, just gave them the "hand-heart" gesture before leaving. Pierre turned off the bathroom light when finished and drowsily waved on his way out.

Alexander (literally) unwound a bit. "Wanna be my queerplatonic significant otter?" He reached out a hand. John made a faint sound of amusement, threaded their fingers together, and promptly fell back asleep.

John got up early, for the first chance at the shower. Plus he was in the mood to try out Liz's written suggestion of making oatmeal and adding the dried berry mix she'd bought too much of on sale. There were also oranges and a juicer that he was encouraged to introduce to one another. He'd just dried off and gotten his jeans and lucky band shirt on when Eliza texted him.

He put on socks and a cardigan - they were still easier for him to put on than normal sweaters were, and probably always would be - then went to the kitchen and called back. "Yes, I can spare a few minutes," he said, voice and movements quiet despite not standing still. His friends in the living room could sleep for another forty minutes without falling behind or running late. 

"Thanks, John. Is he sleeping?"

"Right now, yes. In general, I'm not the guy to ask." 

"That's fine. I'm not planning on having people spy on him for me. Though I fantasize about sending a letter to the professor he TAs for asking for Alexander to get sent home to me. Thom said he's been quieter since he took on more work, and forgetting meals and meds. Alexander says Thom is exaggerating." Eliza sighed. "If my work schedule and location meant I could share more than a fraction of his time..."

"He'll be around us more after he finishes here," John reassured her. "Us and Ned and the Washingtons, and not far from Pierre."

"Not Lafayette."

"Let's not talk about that."

Eliza became Maternal Eliza right away, similar to Nurse Eliza but with more of a personal investment. "I wasn't thinking. How are you? I'm not just asking to be polite."

"You never ask just to be polite. It's one of the nice things about you." There were helpful post-it notes on the drawers and cabinet doors telling him where to find stuff. John gathered ingredients and tools while chatting. "Looking forward to today. Work is good. How's Adolescent Ward treating you?"

"There are a lot more meltdowns, but I find it more rewarding. I end up wanting to adopt most of them. They all need love and understanding, from other people and for themselves, and I think getting any of them to a better place is what I'm proudest of." Her earnestness was the kind of thing that gives people hope for humanity.

"I can imagine you taking care of a horde of kids, especially ones other people would give up on. It feels right."

Their conversation lasted two minutes, maybe three minutes, everything they said perfectly agreeable. Eliza was going to be Alexander's date to Thanksgiving at the Washington household rather than spending it with her own extended family. "They can see me at Christmas. I don't want him to have to choose between seeing me and his last chance to see Lafayette and Adrienne at the same time." 

The day after Thanksgiving, Lafayette and Adrienne were going to have some sort of quiet farewell with just John. They'd been his only friends during a bleak time and they needed the closure as much as he did. John had the vague idea that Pierre was going to spend one more weekend with the outbound pair - before Thanksgiving, when Pierre would be out of state - but he hadn't asked for particulars. 

There might be another chance or two to see just Lafayette. Adrienne would be leaving two weeks before Lafayette for various logistical reasons. She herself was spending this weekend with a few of the friends she'd made on her own here. Lafayette's friends were a circle that was part of Adrienne's social Venn diagram, not the sum total, and John was happy about that. 

"John, are you doing that thing where you get lost in thought and forget you're in a conversation?" Eliza sounded fond, not irritated.

"Yes. Sorry. Uh, I'm gonna be boiling water in a moment, so I should probably hang up."

"Good idea. Take care of yourself, not only the people around you."

"You too."

"Remind Alexander that he's not supposed to drink more than one cup of coffee a day. Regular strength, not, like, multiple espressos sneaked into a single normal-size cup."

"Since his Lithium dosage increased. I know, he was complaining about it. Talk to you later, ma'am." 

Eliza laughed and hung up. John turned on the stove. Good breakfasts didn't automatically mean good days, any more than good friends automatically mean good nights, but they were a good start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Teenage du Ponceau used to get into theological debates with Catholic priests. While he was in confession. 
> 
> \- I realized no female characters had lines in the past two chapters, so I fixed that. Then I realized all the female characters talked about was their boyfriends, so I fixed that too. It's such an easy pattern to fall into, sigh. 
> 
> \- More James Armistead Lafayette, which was the real person's full legal name, in the next chapter.


	8. This Great in This Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander and Pierre finally, finally get to see the musical, but that doesn't mean Lafayette and John don't have a surprisingly great day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have real living people in this, very briefly. That's a first for me.

Pierre wandered into the kitchen in white jeans, a silky black robe covered in embroidered flowers, and a shirt that said COLORLESS GREEN IDEAS SLEEP FURIOUSLY. He yawned and fetched a premixed iced mocha monstrosity from the fridge. Things they weren't allowed to eat or drink were clearly labeled. Lafayette had a diabolical plan to hide cash in various locations around the apartment for their host to stumble upon later. Pierre tapped a toe-socked foot thoughtfully. "Thom's gotta be pretty loaded to have a 1-bed 1-bath this great in this town. I mean my rent isn't particularly cheap, and I live in a studio in Fredericksburg, even if it's walking distance from campus..."

"It belongs to an aunt of his who does real estate investment." John put in a tiny pinch of salt. He couldn't cook intuitively the way Ned could, but he was perfectly capable of going to a website that let him search for recipes by ingredients on hand. "Treating it like he's house-sitting a few months every year. I think their particular scheme non-shadily helps with taxes or something, too."

"Ohhh." Pierre looked into the pot. "Free tip: put raisins or other dried fruit in first, so they'll rehydrate and get all plump."

"Got it. I normally go plain, with cinnamon sugar later." John sprinkled the dry berry mix in and put the lid back on to let it simmer. He'd noticed a box of grits in the cupboard as well, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to eat those for a few years now. _My whiteness has gone Yankee,_ he'd said to Missy once, when they were both drunk enough to slip into their old accents and find remarks like that funny.

Lafayette appeared, needlessly shirtless and with a steaming, slender porcelain cup of what seemed like French-pressed freshly-ground coffee, despite several critical elements not being present in the strictly-instant-coffee apartment. As far as John knew. However, he'd gotten used to Lafayette's lowkey superpower of inexplicably having slightly higher-quality beverages than everyone else did. Things like drinking a darker-shaded beer out of a real glass while everyone else had cheap beer in a red Solo cup, or herbal berry-infused tea in a silk sachet when everyone else had store-brand chamomile, and that time everyone was doing Jello shots but he suddenly had vodka gummy bears, which you can't buy at a store and have to soak all night first. He answered questions about it with a shrug and a smile. 

"Alexander is showering. He wanted me to tell you that Thom has texted and is feeling better. Ah, a toaster!" Lafayette gave John a squeeze on the left shoulder on his way past. 

"I'm making enough to share if anyone wants," John said. "When does the show start again?"

"Show starts 2 PM, doors open at 1," Pierre said, sipping from his bottle.

Lafayette found the oranges and juicer Liz had told them about. "You're going to eat breakfast and lunch beforehand."

"I'm too excited."

"You might think you are. You're not going to enjoy the show as much if you're hungry." Lafayette noticed John staring at him. "Pierre's, ah, arrangement with Adrienne and me is different from the one he has with his romantic partner, though we try to keep it subtle. Less balanced in, how should I say. Power. Regardless of setting. They compartmentalize more. Should I have informed?"

"You didn't need to. I just wanted to make sure you weren't on the edge of a fight." John removed the lid and started mixing in the oats. 

"I let them know when it's serious and I need to do it my way. With someone I'm dating, especially with such a big age difference as I have with Friedrich, we need to be equals for it to work for me. But _we're_ not dating." Pierre indicated Lafayette with an outstretched hand, palm up. Soon he was eating toast that Lafayette insisted on buttering for him. It was an open-plan kitchen/dining area, so they could still all see each other. John felt like an affectionate anthropologist observing unfamiliar rituals. 

Alexander showed up not long after. "Hey, I just remembered that it's Sunday! They'll have a guest in the ensemble!"

"I hear you like oatmeal? I'm almost done."

"Hey, thanks. Do you know about the guest thing?"

"I do!" Pierre was about to get up, but Lafayette put a hand on his knee and plonked Pierre's plastic daily medication box in front of him. 

Getting bowls and sugar and so on ready, Alexander explained: "Partly to compensate for two major roles being played by alternates on Sundays, and partly to give the guests more exposure, one guest performer joins the ensemble and does something that plays to their strengths. A dancer wouldn't have to sing and vice versa. The performer must be professional, must not be cisgender, and has to apply beforehand. If they get picked, they get one ticket to give to someone else, and they get some help with travel and accommodations, but depending on the situation they usually have to pay some of it themselves. Plus show up for a rehearsal. It's always a surprise for the audience."

"Sounds cool," John said. Alexander looked tired but excited.

Lafayette left to get dressed properly, Pierre working through an apple he was under stern orders to finish within the next half hour. 

"Soooo." Alexander grinned at John.

His tastebuds were working today. That was nice. John finished chewing and swallowing before responding. "What?"

"Thom's pretty hot in real life, isn't he?"

John could feel himself blushing. "I'm not going to, uh. Anything."

"It's okay. Nobody minds. It makes me happy to know your brain's been letting you feel things like that." Alexander knew that John spent about three years unable to feel attraction, the few times he had sex having been about wanting to feel something pleasant at all. Anything pleasant at all. 

"Huh?" Pierre asked.

John decided he didn't mind sharing. "I think it was six days after starting on Zoloft. I was in our room at Vernon, and I suddenly said, 'Holy shit, you're good-looking.' He sat up raised an eyebrow - this was after lights-out - and I said I didn't have lustful thoughts towards him, but for the first time I just...noticed. And then the next day it was like a filter had been removed. Aaron was handsome. You were pretty. Are, I guess."

"Aw!"

"And Sam was adorable. Why is he adorable?"

"He's ridiculously adorable," Pierre agreed.

"HOW is my question," Alexander said. "He's, like, eight years older than me. Thirty-five, thirty-six. Something like that."

Pierre said, while crunching around a mouthful, "No way."

"I have this hypothesis that George thought so too, and couldn't handle it," Alexander continued.

"That's not something to joke about," John said slowly.

"I'm serious. People get nasty about wanting what they can't -"

John gripped his spoon until the metal hurt his palm. "Let's talk about something else."

The light dawned. So far only Angelica, Alexander, Dr. Suriyaren, and Ned knew details about Charles Lee, and only the therapists knew _all_ the details. He'd told Lewis a very vague outline to explain his jumpiness, and the people present when John was a court witness had heard him allude to it. He told Ned because it was important when making their relationship physical. He told Alexander because Alexander was the only person close to him who knew what it was like to feel completely alone and hopeless, with anyone who might care about you out of your reach. 

"Shit, John, I'm sorry."

"I know you didn't mean to. Let's talk about something else."

They sat in awkward silence for a moment. Pierre opened his mouth, and John was afraid he'd ask about it, but instead he asked, "Do either of you know the reference on my shirt?"

***

Alexander and Pierre went to wait outside the theater at 12:15. Lafayette and John wandered around and looked at things and talked. And talked. Sometimes they held hands to not lose each other in the crowd - and because John had never seen Lafayette as hot or sexy, despite knowing he was to many people, but he'd always seen him as reassuring and protective. 

(Ned had held Alexander's hand since they were teenagers, whenever Alexander was vibrating out of his skin with mania. Ned called it "being a kite string". They also did it in front of missionaries and street preachers. So he got it. John was so grateful he got it.)

Then, right after the show closed, John got a text from Alexander saying, "STAGE DOOR! YOU WANNA SEE GUEST STAR!"

They rushed without quite running, which would both look strange and also might make them crash into the masses of people also on the sidewalk. Lafayette stopped short. John stopped too, but Lafayette waved him on. "Friend!" He darted in a different direction.

John heard Lafayette shrieking, "James Armistead! Lafayette!", and out of the corner of his eye he saw Lafayette tightly hugging a startled but thrilled guy about the same age. John kept going, though. He had an inkling of who Alexander meant.

She was standing off to the side, as if she wanted any fans of just her to not have to fight through all the people who were there for the regular Bly cast. A black-and-white stripy dress under her gray coat, black tights, very tall in her boots. Alexander thrust a piece of paper in John's hand. "Gotta go meet Lin-Manuel Miranda or else I'm gonna cry, but wanted you to have a chance before tumblr summons the robots." He gave John an encouraging pat on the back and joined the teeming horde.

There wasn't a teeming horde in front of John, but there were about a dozen people ahead of him, and her band members were known for giving hugs on request. Which took a little while. That was okay. John schooled his breathing and looked at the paper Alexander had stuffed in his hand. It said:

_Meet Today's Guest Star: Isabella "Bunny" Bennett_

_Pronouns: She/Her_

_Performance Type: Chorus, with Solo Verses_

_Roles: Nervous Suffragette in "The Parade of 1913", Celebrating 1920 Suffragette in "She Lived, She Died, She Told Our Stories"._

_Isabella "Bunny" Bennett is the cofounder of the all-ages musical act Steam Powered Giraffe, alongside her twin David Michael Bennett. She is a singer, mime, visual artist, and puppeteer, and plays the melodica, accordion, and keytar. Like her brother and their fellow group member Samuel Luke, she does her own makeup as part of her onstage persona as Rabbit, an eccentric steam-powered robot programmed to entertain you. Rabbit was originally performed as a masculine being. In SPG lore, the transition was explained as Rabbit being upgraded into a feminine body in order to be closer to original blueprints and reduce malfunctions. We think it's a great metaphor, don't you? To find out_

Then Lafayette was there, with his friend, chattering excitedly about "that summer in Lang - I mean, McLean". "John, this is James Armistead. Armistead, this is John Laurens."

"I'd be more excited to see you if I wasn't in line to see her," John said honestly.

Armistead nodded. "I see a lot of celebs come through here. Still not over it."

"How did you end up working as a theater usher anyway?" When Armistead didn't answer, Lafayette said, "Ah. I'm glad that worked out."

"Let John wait in line in peace. Can I buy you a drink?"

"Hooray! John, don't worry about getting an autograph for Adrienne or anything. She saw SPG in New Jersey last summer. Alexander and Pierre won't leave without you."

John waited. And inched ahead. And waited. Then he was at the front of the line, and he was unable to control the torrent. "HiwowIjustwantyoutoknowthat when I camebackfromAfghanistan your music was a lot to, a lot to me, especiallywhenIwas recovering fromthebomband I..."

Bunny said, "Breathe. C'mere." 

Dreamlike, John stepped into the hug and was pretty sure he was hugging back.

"Hug him gently, you don't know where the holes are," said a voice much like hers but deeper.

Of course it was David, looking dapper but also sleep-deprived. Of course. 

"I wore my SPG shirt because it's my lucky shirt," John said as Bunny let him go. He quickly undid his jacket to show them. "I was reunited with my long-lost friend in this shirt."

"Wow," David said. "I got a silver pen if you want it signed."

He asked for it signed over his heart, asked if they were doing a concert in town and found out it to his disappointment that was a private event, was also disappointed that Sam was off helping Steve set up for it, and hugged David. Then he tore himself away before he started giving other people short shrift.

"I'm frightened of how happy I am," he told Alexander when they found each other.

"I know that feel," Alexander said. "I gotta edit all these selfies."

Pierre was incoherent with squee. He had signatures all over his playbill and had bought a hat. He said something in French about Jules Verne, but John couldn't follow it.

Alexander pointed them in the correct direction and led them away from the holy site. "I've learned that you gotta embrace good times with the full knowledge that they won't last. We can tell you and Lafayette all about it. Let's get a snack before I resort to eating a horse."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- "Colorless green ideas sleep furiously" is a sentence used in linguistics to show how you can have correct syntax but not make sense. 
> 
> \- There's a moment in Notes or Minutes where Jay observes Lafayette drinking craft root beer out of a glass bottle while everyone else is drinking Coke and Sprite from paper cups. 
> 
> \- I've decided this AU's Samuel Seabury is the same age as Thayne Jasperson as well as looking like him.
> 
> \- You may be interested in the fic chapter I posted the day before this one, Chapter 3 of Last-Second Stories: "Revisit with George King". 
> 
> \- I haven't told you guys everything about Charles Lee yet.
> 
> \- James Armistead was a slave whose master lent him to the Revolution. He served under Lafayette as a spy, and helped expose the treachery of Benedict Arnold. At first the new U.S. government wanted to deny Armistead emancipation under the argument that he'd been a SPY, not a SOLDIER, but Lafayette argued on his behalf. In gratitude, the newly free man legally changed his name to James Armistead Lafayette. When Lafayette returned to America in 1804, he saw Armistead from his carriage and demanded that the carriage stop. Lafayette got out and hugged him. 
> 
> \- McLean, Virginia is very close to Langley. McLean itself functions as an innocous suburb of the Washington, D.C. metropolitan area. Langley is the location of the CIA headquarters. Draw your own conclusions. 
> 
> \- In Sharps Hour, it was stated that the majority of actors in Bly are trans, but that Lin-Manuel Miranda sometimes plays Mexican dictator Porfirio Diaz in the number "You'd Better Leave".
> 
> \- I met Steam Powered Giraffe both in and out of character at a convention. Happy sigh. 
> 
> \- Stock up on spoons and joyful memories whenever you can.


	9. The Stray Paper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just another day at work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I count last chapter as Fluff. I count this one as Drama.

"Lafayette and I wandered around NYC while Alexander and Pierre were watching Bly, and I found a kiosk selling novelty socks," John explained. He handed Lewis his gift.

Lewis turned the pair - unwrapped except for the cardboard label that also held them together -over in his hands. He laughed. Just above the ankle, in big block letters, one said LEFT and the other said RIGHT. "Hey, my pant cuffs would cover these. And if I panicked I could lift the cuffs up and check. This is very sweet of you."

In reality, if Lewis was upset enough to not be able to calmly reason out left vs right on his own by thinking through what hand he held pens in, he probably wouldn't have the presence of mind to do that. Most of the time he got them mixed up in an absentminded way. John thought it might strike a positive chord, that's all.

“I need to make a bunch of phone calls.” Lewis got up from his seat and stretched. “Most urgent one is to Clark. He left me a message last night.”

“I thought things were fine.”

“Between us, yes, but people keep trying to use my fight with him, month-long disappearance from the public eye, and subsequent resignation from Andrew Jackson’s staff as some kind of political ammunition. Especially as we get closer to the election. Clark’s been doing his best to fend some of it off on my behalf. I got off easy compared to say, you, but having the press speculate on one’s mental health is…”

John wanted to give him a pat on the back, he looked so stressed by the thought. He busied his hands with some papers instead. “Let’s not make it a competition. Want me to work on these blog entries?”

Lewis had an active social media presence. Anything lengthier than two sentences required carefully handwriting an outline of whatever he wanted to say, having John type them up with correct spelling, and working together to flesh them out in what was more conversation than dictation. Dictating didn’t work for him. He wrote his own tweets and Facebook updates, though. John only looked at them to make sure autocorrect hadn’t done anything ridiculous.

_They’d been having lunch at a nearby Au Bon Pain branch to celebrate three months working together. In the middle of talking about a completely different topic, Lewis said: ”I get ashamed of hiding it, sometimes, because when I was younger I sure would have felt better seeing a successful dyslexic person with a mind at work. But I’m not ready to have a whole additional layer of interest in my personal life while I’m spending so much time avoiding scrutiny when it comes to - anyway. Sacagawea says being a member of any kind of marginalized group isn’t an instant obligation for advocacy on that group’s behalf. You don’t always have to publicly say what you believe. It’s okay to back down. It’s okay to learn to take your time. She’s never shamed her brother for being silent on Native issues and just living his life.”_

_”She’s right,” John said. “Besides, it means you have a reason to keep me around.”_

_”Don’t sell yourself short. I’m always going to need my right hand man.”_

Lewis glanced at the notes and shook his head. “That can wait. I’ve misplaced a folder of receipts from the August trip. I need it by tomorrow. Should be labeled ‘Louisiana Purchases’. Or possibly ‘Louisiana Transactions’. Or ‘Louisiana Finances.’ Um. It’s definitely in the filing cabinet nearest to the door, though. Help?”

The trip had to do with researching the remaining effects of the Gulf Coast oil spill years later, for an article. Lewis had given John the choice of coming with him, working at the office, or working at home. It would have been a tougher decision if Ned hadn’t been sick and John hadn’t been so committed to the opportunity to be the caregiving one.

“I’ll look for the folder,” John said. “Might do a little reorganization while I’m at it. Both of us randomly jam stuff in there more than we should.”

“I’d be lost without you. Thanks.” Lewis went to the outer, Real Adult Office to use the Real Adult Office Phone. He closed the door behind him. He got self-conscious.

John got two cardboard boxes to assist in sorting anything he removed from the cabinet entirely. There were redundant photocopies and forms that they’d safely digitized already, for example. It was a quiet, methodical task, and a nice way to ease himself back into regular life after the thrills of the weekend.

It was a good thing Thom had been there on Monday morning to pry Alexander off them, Lafayette especially. John clung to Alexander, too. Alexander sent all three of them dozens of separate text messages over the next six hours, until Thom sent one saying, “I’ve made him stop through peaceful means. Carry on.”

The journey back had been full of talking and laughter with Pierre and Lafayette, who were enthusiastic to pay attention to him and not just each other, as he’d been a little afraid of at first. They dropped John off with many hugs and well-wishes, used his bathroom, and gave Missy hugs and gifts. Pierre occasionally still called her ‘Tech Martha’ out of habit when addressing her. Then they set off for Pierre’s place in Fredericksburg, where Lafayette would spend the night, “purely because I will have done so much driving already. Adrienne is joining us simply because she is so fond of their charming downtown area.”

(The expected ‘charming downtown area’ jokes followed, everyone in the car contributing.)

So he was in a good mood today, but also in a little of a letdown mode. He knew this was a normal thing people without depression got as well. He let it exist on its own terms.

Further evidence of random file mashups came in the form of paper clips clipping things together that were not meant to be clipped, wedged in by accident. John diligently separated these whenever he came upon them, skimming each item to get an idea of where to put it or if to toss it.

He found another of the paper-clipped sheafs that had taken on an additional passenger. He flipped the stray paper around to see what it was. He stopped.

It was a drawing. A sketch, really, done in pencil. It had a lot of feeling, if no polish, and it had a hunger to it. It showed a nude young man lying on a couch. Touching himself. Head tipped back and eyes closed in ecstasy.

The couch was the couch a only few feet from John. The subject of the drawing had John’s face. There was an inaccurate, but medically realistic, depiction of John’s old shrapnel marks and newer bullet scar.

He felt very cold and distant. He slowly got to his feet, placed the stray paper on the repurposed kitchen table, and picked up his messenger bag.

When he fetched his coat from the rack near the outer office door, Lewis paused in his phone call. “Are you - what’s wrong? John? What happened?” He sounded worried. Probably.

John said nothing. He kept going.

If he heard footsteps behind him, he’d run to the Metro station. Run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will feature HERCULES MULLIGAN being HERCULES MULLIGANLY, along with some much nicer surprises than here.


	10. The Price of Such Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not like Hercules is babysitting John. It's just considerate to not make his sister worry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has:  
> \- Charles Lee stuff  
> \- George King stuff  
> \- Brief reference to eating disorders
> 
>  
> 
> But! It also has:  
> \- Fluff  
> \- Humor  
> \- Squee  
> \- Catharsis

"Did you get home from work, like, super early?"

It was 1 PM, when Missy usually got up so she could spend time doing chores and working on her online Master's in hospital administration. "Evening Shift" was kind of a misnomer - she returned from Vernon just after 1 AM, and ate a meal and relaxed a bit before going to bed around 5. John's dinner/her lunch was their opportunity to touch base during the workweek, watching bootleg telenovelas their way of bonding at home, shared D&D their way of bonding outside. She had her own non-work friends, chatting online and meeting up every three months or so. Then there was the recent addition of dates with Dr. Ramzi, but that was a whole other topic.

Right now John was eating his way through a tub of mashed potatoes that he impulsively bought at a Boston Market on his dazed stalk towards Clarendon Station. It was a large tub. He'd added additional butter. "Yes."

"Are you binge-eating?"

"No." He didn't look up. She stood there, hoping for more, but he couldn't. 

He spent a few hours in his room, his phone off to stop hearing the pings of texts he didn't want to see, or even look at enough to delete them. He considered a shower but didn't want to take his clothes off. Eventually, the only thing he found manageable was lying in bed with his plush manatee, listening to all 82 SPG songs he owned. 

The sun was getting low outside when Missy knocked on the door. 

_Time can make the world strange, folks you knew don't feel the same..._

"It's not locked."

She was dressed in her scrubs, and the expression she had back when when John told her he'd decided on a college multiple states away. "I realize there's stuff you don't tell a sibling. I'm respecting that. Respect my inability to leave you alone here for eight-plus hours."

"I'll be fine."

"You're in a fetal position, singing along to the saddest song in your entire fandom."

_The autumns roll by; a young lady takes the child's place..._

John sat up. "Ned's unavailable." The truth was that John didn't want to associate his thoughts about today with the presence of the one person he was happy seeing him like...that. Like in the drawing. Plus Ned was genuinely busy tonight.

"How about Hercules?"

"Hm." Hercules had always been good at letting John be broken for a little while without rushing to fix it. John turned off the music and emerged from his nest. "If he doesn't mind."

Hercules didn't mind, but he had to hang up abruptly before he could say anything further. Both of them spent enough time at his house as part of “The Duskling Fellowship” that it all felt reassuringly casual.

Missy dropped John off. At the last minute, he hugged her and mumbled an apology for not explaining. She rubbed his back and said, "I know there are moments that the words don't reach." 

Hercules greeted him with grin and bro handshake. “Elsie’s working overtime on a rush job at the shop, but I didn’t get to tell you that Sam’s here. I had to hang up to help him out of a jam. Is that a problem?”

“No, but I’m surprised. I didn’t know you guys hung out.” John carried his backpack of emotional-emergency supplies into what was supposed to be Hercules Mulligan’s and Elizabeth “Elsie” Sanders’ dining room. In practice, most of the time it was Hercules’ gaming and hobby sewing room, and they ate full meals (rather than snacks) in the kitchen. Elsie was a full-time professional dressmaker and did her work either at the shop or in the home office.

Reverend Samuel Seabury was sitting at a cleared-off area of the dining room, with a bowl of chili and a D&D manual he was leafing through. He also had crutches propped up next to him, and a cast from below his left knee to the arch of the foot. Along with a massive black eye. He seemed pretty chipper, though, and waved at John. “I’m on ten days of bonus sick leave. It’s nice to see you, even with such a sorrowful look to you.”

"Oh my god, they tore this dude apart. He’s still learning the whole ‘crutches’ thing,” Hercules said. “Gotta use that folding wheelchair over in the corner to make it more than a yard or so.”

“I couldn’t get up from the squishy couch earlier. Hercules rescued me. But you should have seen the other guys!” Sam looked pleased to have had an opportunity to make the time-honored joke.

“What happened?” John cleared an area across from Sam to sit, and nodded to Hercules’ wordless offers of chili and a glass of water.

Sam shifted in his seat to get more comfortable. “A riot broke out while I was leading a prayer meeting. There was an effort to take me hostage. It would have been a lot worse if the gentlemen at the meeting itself hadn’t worked so hard to protect me, though. I’m going to put that forth for consideration at their parole hearings.”

“Whoa.” Elsie had made stellar chili, as usual. She sometimes used Martha and John as a repository for leftovers, as the other two Duskling Fellowship members had dietary restrictions she wasn’t equipped to cook for. 

“Maybe consider not being so nice to dangerous people,” Hercules said lightly, though they all knew what he meant. He sat down to hand-stitch tiny gold beads on a wine-colored gown. 

“There are people who say the price of such love’s not a price they’d be willing to pay. But we all have our callings. I wouldn’t mind nearly as much if someone hadn’t bugged the ceiling of my home right when I got back from the hospital. The devices make a high-pitched whining noise that was giving me headaches, and I can’t chisel them out without losing my deposit.” 

Hercules hummed sympathetically. “If Sam is right, they were cruel enough to do it right when he is temporarily _not taking his psych meds_ , in order to take pain meds without drug interactions. Especially when suddenly stopping those medications could potentially make him have a certain lack of self-awareness.”

“I know! It’s terrible. Right when I’m at my most vulnerable. Fortunately, I’m still rational, and I hope that continues. Hercules read about the whole thing on my blog - it’s called Free Thoughts on Needed Correctional Institution Progress, if you ever want to take a look, John - and he and Elsie are being kind enough to let me stay with them for two nights while a friend of mine takes care of my apartment and cats. She isn’t affected by the noise. It’s calibrated to my eardrums. She’s very brave and says her life is an open book. When I’m off the painkillers and on my proper medications again, I’ll have the clarity and fortitude to confront whoever’s taking advantage of me. May I have more lemonade, please?” 

John felt a renewed sense of gratitude to have someone like Hercules in his life. “What do you make of that book you’ve got there?”

Sam tapped the manual with a forefinger. “I don’t agree with the moral panic certain denominations have about this. I was very into acting when I was younger -”

“You were?”

“Yes! I was in two high school musicals. This appears much like combining improv theater and a fantasy-themed board game, to me. I wouldn’t mind watching. You seem very troubled this evening, John. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not right now. Ooh, there’s cornbread?”

“Sam’s not staying here for free,” Hercules said. “He’s going to earn his keep.”

“They’ve asked me to officiate their wedding,” Sam said, voice warm and full of wonder.

John paused with his spoon partway through his mouth. “You proposed?”

“Nah, we were doing the dishes and she said, ‘So, do you think we’re ready?’ and I said, ‘Do you mean to get married or to apply for a booth at the Maryland Renn Faire?’ and she said, ‘There’s no way we’re ready for the Renn Faire, but I’ll marry the hell out of you,’ and I said, ‘Sweet, I’ll make you a dress if you want,’ and she said, ‘Cool, I’ll alter that cheapskate tux of yours so it accentuates your hotness rather than broadcasts your stinginess. I want to wear red, though, not white.’ That’s what I’m working on. We haven’t started on the invites yet, but every Duskling’s on the list, obviously. We’re keeping it less than a hundred and fifty guests, maybe just a hundred. No stress. My love for her is never in doubt. We’ll get a little venue in NoVa.”

“You’ve got it all figured out,” John said, smiling for the first time in what felt like weeks instead of hours. 

Sam wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “I’ve mostly officiated church weddings, but I’ve done civil ceremonies a few times. The main difference is brevity and whether or not a drunk guest asks how old I am and if I’m celibate. I tell them I’m old enough to know that I’ll never be interested.” 

Hercules chuckled. “Burrrrn.”

“Oh dear, that never occurred to me. I try to speak plainly.”

“I wouldn’t mind hearing about any other adventures you’ve had,” John said. Hercules gave John a discreet wink and thumbs-up.

The most impressive story was the fourth Sam told, about commanding respect in a new prison. “...When I told the man to sit down and that I wouldn’t let him lead us astray, he said it was easy for me to talk to them about right and wrong when I had no way of even conceiving what they’d been through, that I’d probably never really suffered. This was last May. I had a moment of wondering whether this was showboating or not, but I was tired of arguing. I quickly stripped to the waist and turned around, and I said, ‘I think you know what sort of tool might make gashes like this. I know what it’s like to be in an institution where you’re fighting against yourself as well as those around you. Chaos and bloodshed are not a solution. I know what it’s like to be looking for peace. If you don’t want my help, you’re free to turn it down, but don’t ruin it for anyone who does.’ I got dressed in the full outfit again and nobody made a peep.’”

“Did anyone ask later what you’d been in for?” Hercules asked. He was now using a magnifying glass on a stand to help him with the truly miniscule beads.

“I said I might tell them one day.” 

Then the power cut out. Hercules groaned. “Our fuse box has been on the fritz. I’ll go deal with it. Can you guys manage? Might be twenty minutes.”

They told him they’d be fine. Hercules used the light of his phone to find his way to a real flashlight, and then set off on his mission.

Sitting in the dark, John thought about things he’d only told his therapists, neither of whom he felt up to contacting over this issue yet. He thought about things Sam saw and heard every day by choice, and how they frightened him far less than threats from inside his own head. He thought about how, regardless of the accuracy of Alexander’s hypothesis, George had hurt Sam in an extremely intimate way.

“Can I tell you something confidential?” he asked.

The silhouette of Sam nodded gravely. “Yes. Don’t worry about shocking me. Not much does.”

“I bet. Um. You know I was in the army a little while. Before Vernon. During a time where I had almost nobody in my corner.”

“Yes.”

“And I said I got blackmailed by a higher-ranking officer.

“I’m still sorry to hear that.” It wasn’t trite when Sam said it.

“Sometimes he got me alone, and, it wasn’t that he touched me much, or anywhere that’s clear-cut - uh, like, my shoulder, my neck, my face. With his fingers. Grabbed my chin. Things like that.”

“That’s not remotely acceptable. I’m sorry that happened to you.”

This was the part he’d never told Alexander or Ned. “He wrote letters about things he wanted to do with me. To me. And he quizzed me on stuff in them, to make sure I actually read them instead of tearing them up right away. It wasn’t enough that he had those desires. I had to know about them and, and have them in my head, and wonder if he was ever gonna take it further, and I. I. I had to.”

Hercules came back to a well-lit dining room, one of his guests crouched on the floor, the other one cradling his head in his lap and speaking very, very softly. He silently returned to his beads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- "Turn Back the Clock" the song quoted in this chapter, is the "It's Quiet Uptown" of SPG fandom. Rabbit the robot sings about a little girl who loves the show, who becomes a big girl, who becomes a woman, who becomes, wait, where'd that girl run to? Will she be back soon?
> 
> Almost all of the band's songs are available on their official channel. Here's that one: http://youtu.be/cGU90k_mqq4
> 
> \- I made up a nickname for Elizabeth Sanders to distinguish her from all the other Elizabethses I have going on, with something that feels sufficiently different to me, and also seems logical.
> 
> \- I'm sorry for how lame the joke is, but Thayne Jasperson was in High School Musical and its sequel. I HAD TO. The fact that it was *as one of the high-schoolers* made another age dig absolutely necessary as well.


	11. Sacagawea Speaks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Sharps Hour hit 100 bookmarks!
> 
> 2\. I finished my first day at my new job!
> 
> This chapter contains:  
> \- Discussion of aromantic stigma  
> \- References to alcoholism  
> \- References to anxiety attacks  
> \- Sad Nature Dude being Sad about his Nature

Thank you for letting me stop by and hearing me out, John. 

You know, among several cultures that once clustered around the Missouri river, having at least one woman among your traveling party was a clear sign of peaceful intentions. Though really, I'm the one here because I don't think you want to see Lewis right now, and Clark has the emotional intelligence of brine shrimp, and my close friend Otter - she's Lewis' on-again-off-again friend with benefits - she's abroad, like she often is. He doesn't have many people. He gets along with my brother fine, but they're not that kind of friends.

I'm not going to sugarcoat it. He's in a bad way. Took a lot of convincing to get him to come out from under his desk, and he's been holding onto his five-years-sober token like it's going to turn into a jackpot casino chip any minute now. I haven't put him under lock and key or anything, but I'm checking in as frequently as I can.

I'm not going to guilt trip you, either, because your reaction would make sense for anybody, let alone someone I know must have extra challenges to deal with, given where you two met. That was one of the more alarming ways anyone could accidentally find out about your boss feeling like that, as well. You have every right to not go back if that's what you decide you want, once you have all the facts.

Once you have all the facts.

Aromantic people get a bad rap for supposedly not loving properly or crap like that. Aromantic people who aren't asexual can get painted as heartless sex maniacs. Lewis being aromantic but demisexual means that he doesn't experience romantic love, but he's incapable of being sexually attracted to people he doesn't know well and isn't fond of and feels comfortable with. I know he's told you all this, but I brought it up in order to give the following facts context:

1\. I've known he was attracted to you ever since he got out of Vernon. I didn't know it was manifesting in quietly creepy ways. I would have said something. I would have advised a different approach. I did tell him to be careful so one or both of you didn't get hurt. He said he was nervous too, but he was committed to never making a move due to some unspecified baggage you have that isn't his place to share. He said he wouldn't miss out on a promising work partnership just because his "lizard brain" wasn't behaving.

2\. He's never been so productive and content in all the years I've known him. Never. I have to adjust this for the fact that he was miserable after the first few months at the Department of the Interior, and he only stayed on because he felt like he was needed. Also, you know, alcoholism. But he enjoyed working for the Parks Service, and he enjoyed his freelance period similar to this one before he got into civil service. He got everything done far more slowly. He complained constantly about not meshing well with anyone except for me and Clark. He talks about you as an assistant like you're a reward for something good he must have done at some point. John Pernia was capable and a solid PA, but they were never pals. 

3\. He's wanted to have sex with me since roughly six weeks after we met. Every few months I ask if he still does, and he admits it, and asks if I'm still not interested, and I confirm that I don't feel that way about him. That's all we say about it. He still claimed to be the father so he could hold my hand while I was in labor, and picked me up when I bailed out of a date that was getting scary, and he writes me New Year's cards in Shoshone (I have no idea how long that takes him), and he took care of my infant son while I spent a week in the hospital after a car crash. Maybe he draws stuff of me that I never want to see. If he keeps that at home and secret, fine. 

He meant to do that with yours. Keep it a secret. Said you seeing it was a nightmare come true. I didn't get to see it, because he tore it up and set it on fire. The alarm went off, and sudden loud noises often give him anxiety attacks even when everything else is fine. It was a mess. He's a smart man. He can't completely care of himself. You don't have to be one of the people who helps him, I'm just saying that I'm one of those people, and it's been worth it.

You don't have to take all this on faith. Would you be willing to sit down with him and me at the office and have a mediated discussion? You can bring your own advocate as well, for balance. I want you to feel safe. I told him intent is not magic, and he needs to do his part and come to terms with the situation being neither hopeless nor inevitably fine, and he needs to give you breathing room. 

I rarely say this much without powerpoint slides behind me or a megaphone in my hand. What do you think?

_"I'll do it."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- As it's been awhile: John Pernia was Lewis' free, paid servant of African descent who accompanied him for much of the expedition. Unfortunately Lewis' post-expedition financial ruin and suicide led to Pernia having to appeal to Jefferson for his back wages. Guess how that went.
> 
> \- I'm saying this again because it interests me: Clark had a slave with him named York, who he sometimes lent to Lewis before Lewis hired Pernia. Lewis (who had seniority, that's why his name always goes first) gave ALL members votes in decisions that were up for debate, regardless of race, legal status, or gender. He'd grown up on a slave plantation, but after going away to college he never showed much enthusiasm for inheriting it, and went off to quell the Whiskey Rebellion instead. Plus he got in trouble for being too nice to the natives when their interests were contrary to white people's. 
> 
> \- The cultural note about having at least one woman in the group is true, and was a vital role Sacagawea played during the historical expedition. Especially since she spent it either pregnant or carrying a baby. They would have been attacked more often if it hadn't been for her presence. (Which...given what Jefferson and Jackson ended up doing with the knowledge gained, might not have been the worst idea...)
> 
> \- If I remember correctly, there was an incident where she saved all the journals, records, plant samples, etc from being ruined or lost when the canoe they were in capsized. This would have meant the most to Lewis, who did more of the For Science! Clark was more the For 'Murica!. 
> 
> \- When she went into labor, at least one of them went with her to see a midwife from a nearby tribe, and observed the techniques. I don't remember which or how many, just that one of them documented the medicines and so on. I wonder if she felt cared for, awkward, or a bit of both. They all loved her son from that moment forth, though. 
> 
> \- I haven't said it in-story, but this AU's version of Meriwether Lewis is 36 at this point in the series arc. As with John, I set his Sharps Hour age as his historical death age, despite the real Lewis being much younger than Laurens.


	12. For You and With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance to negotiate: bring along your seconds to try to set the record straight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Last of the Charles Lee stuff, probably.
> 
> \- In the story, there is an implied reference to strangulation and gang violence. It's really vague.
> 
> \- In the end note, there is discussion of an 18th century execution.

"I'm honored you chose me." Ned let John lead him by the hand to the office, which he'd only ever heard John describe.

"Well, you're my boyfriend." Also, Sam had started seeing ‘crawly shadows’ out the corners of his eyes. At least he knew they weren’t real, and that they were from skipping his meds for multiple days. 

“Honored on both counts.” 

John’s hands were shaking as he tried to use his key. Thankfully, Ned didn’t try to do it for him, just stood next to him. They had asked to be the first to arrive, so that John could come to terms with the setting before having to come to terms with the other pair’s presence. “Sorry I yelled at you.”

“I understood.” The conciseness of Ned’s answer meant he really was fine. Injured pride and righteous wrath were the two things that brought him to Alexander-style verbal hurricane. 

The door opened. “I think I was more scared that you were able to notice how he was looking at me at my Vernon-Versary party, the only time you’ve ever met him, and I wasn’t. I know you would have told me if you thought it was sinister.”

“As I said to him, I watch for things like that. Not because I worry about you running off with another guy. I trust you to talk to me if our relationship isn’t giving you what you want. Before Alexander discovered polyamory, he always cheated the fastest on people who tried to police him.” Ned took off his coat and hung it on the hook. He helped John out of his, too. Freezing rain was forecast for tonight, and John’s damaged muscles were aching in preparation. “Nice potted fern.”

“I like ferns. I’m gonna use the bathroom. Make yourself comfortable in the inner office, but not on the - not on the couch. I don’t want to sit on the couch.”

John peed, then he washed his hands and his face. He ducked to avoid looking at himself in the mirror. He’d spent far too much time staring at it and trying to figure out what it was that made these things happen, or pondering way too seriously if gaining thirty pounds would prevent it. He did his best to avoid looking at the walls, as well, full of his and Lewis’ silly doodles.

“I think I’ll sit at the head of the table and you can sit on either my left or right. That way you can easily see me but also hold hands.”

“Sounds good. Yeah. Thanks for taking the day off.” John sat so that he didn’t have to look at the couch. He heard the door open and took a deep breath.

“My pleasure. Dr. Rush can write his own damn reports for once. May I?” Ned waited for John’s nod before leaning over and kissing him. A solid, yet simmering, sort of kiss. 

“Mr. Stevens, there’s no way you didn’t know we were standing right here.” Sacagawea was dressed in a crisp gray suit with a white shirt and shiny black flats. Lewis, hiding as much behind her as someone much taller than her could, looked like he’d spent all night in a bus shelter. 

Ned made a “what can you do?” gesture. “John knew too, and that’s what matters.”

“I’m sorry if that was mean,” John said, to his own surprise. 

Lewis took a few deep breaths himself. He didn’t sit. He looked from chair to chair, unable to decide. “Where…”

“Across from me. I need to see how sincere you are.” Another surprise, both to John and everyone else.

Meekly sitting and clutching at his briefcase in his lap, as if they were in a crowded subway car, Lewis said, “She said it to you already, but so you hear it direct: I’m sorry. It was there by complete accident. I would never, ever, ever, ever harass or pressure you on purpose. If you want to quit, I will write you a glowing reference and give you all the contacts I know of who might be a match for your skills. I would much rather you decide to stay. What would be enough to be satisfied? To make it right for you?”

John curled the fingers of his left hand around Ned’s wrist. “If we lay a strong enough foundation. I've thought it over. Both how we work together and what Sacagawea told me. I intellectually believe everything you just said."

"Intellectually?”

"Emotionally - I'm saying this because this won't work if we're not clear every step of the way - I'm scared of you."

Lewis might have looked less devastated if John had simply slapped him in the face. "I see."

 _"You are inaccurately feeling guilty. It's obvious and not fair to yourself,"_ Ned whispered in John's ear, in Spanish for good measure. 

"It's not you. It's not me, either. I told you the bones of it, but I need to flesh it out so you see where, uh, where, where I'm coming from. With this."

Ned held up a hand. "Let me mention something first. If I find out that what John's about to say has left this room, my admiration for both of you becomes moot. I am slow to anger, but I toe the line. Also, several other people who love John are much less calm than I am." 

"You can tell your therapist," John added quickly. 

Sacagawea put a hand on top of Lewis' shaking one, flat on the table. "Same here. Have you told anyone about the inciting incident?"

"Nobody but Ned." John summoned all the courage he required. “He wasn’t directly my boss. He was a general. He threatened to expose my lying about my mental health history when enlisting. Made me read itemized lists of 30-plus years of pent-up closeted desires.”

“Sweet Jesus,” Lewis said, knee-jerk. 

“Liked to end them with, ‘And maybe with your cooperation…’ Dot dot dot.”

“Shit. Fuck. Oh God. I’m even sorrier. No wonder. I’d be scared of me too.” Lewis reached inside his briefcase and pulled out a small rectangle. He placed it on the table. “Maybe, maybe, just maybe this can be proof. Do you recognize this?”

John slid it over to see it better. “This is the cryptic postcard you had me read for you awhile back.”

“Wait, you read it for him?” Ned asked.

“I can’t read cursive, but the sender doesn’t know that,” Lewis explained. 

Ned looked confused. Lewis looked confused at Ned’s confusion. John took a second to figure it out. “I haven’t volunteered that information about you to people, Lewis.”

“Oh! Um, I’m dyslexic. Significantly. One of the major things John does for me is compensate for that. As for the postcard. That’s not the proof, but it’s to show you evidence that I didn’t plan this. Look up the website. I will tell you now that this is incredibly embarrassing, but it’s nothing compared to what I put you through, and I need to - I don’t know how to explain. Do either of you have it?”

The iPhone in Ned’s hand now showed the website mentioned on the postcard, a home page with the heading “Momentary Pangs”. He angled it so John could see it. “Looks like a hybrid of a heartbreak warmline and a sex line, which...kinda logical but slightly weird combo.”

“Warmline?” Sacagawea asked.

“Like a hotline, but less urgent.” 

The founder/owner of the line or agency or whatever this type of thing was just called J.A. on the website. There were links to pictures of him, but his pictures apparently weren’t visible right there because certain clients might not want to know his real face. Same with his employees of various genders.

“Where is this going?” John asked.

“I need to rip off a band-aid.” Lewis took out his own phone and started entering a number.

Sacagawea sighed. “This cloak-and-dagger thing isn’t helping.”

“Please. Two minutes and I will hang up if you want me to.”

John couldn’t let a friend sound like that, with such desperation. “Fine.”

The phone rang twice before there was pickup. “Hey, buddy, not when I would expect you. What’s up?” The voice was casual, neither solicitous nor seductive. 

“Andre, you’re on speakerphone.”

“One, since when do you call me that? Two, that’s a new kink.”

“Please, I need you to give a PG-13 summary of what we talk about, and how I act, and what, what I call you during the calls.”

“Does someone have a gun to your head?”

“No.”

“Okie-dokie. Now that I’m not worried about Ben stabbing me in the back and leaving me to the wolves, I can do out of the box. Anonymous so-far silent people, this guy calls me John, which is in fact my first name, but...did someone just gasp?”

“Get on with it, I beg you.”

“Doesn’t get off on the conversation. I think it’s cathartic. He talks about how handsome quote-on-quote “I” looked recently, or that he really admires something I did, or that he wants to cheer me up because I’ve been working too hard or am stressed or something. Sweet body-worshippy details follow. Though he admits to being selfish and really wanting “me” to fu - um, top him. ‘I don’t want to do anything to you. I want to do things for you and with you. I want to give you things, including myself.’ I stole that last line for my own use.”

Lewis coughed. “Andre had some conflicts at his last job over how personal he was allowed to get with his callers.”

“He’s pleasant to chat with, compared to a lot of them. I - Andre - am discouraged from any dirty talk whatsoever. When he pauses and asks something like, ‘If that doesn’t appeal to you, I won’t bring it up again, but do you think you might want to try?”, my job is to, in his words, ‘express enthusiastic consent’. What usually happens is extensively reassuring him that he’s not a terrible person. ‘John, I’m sorry, I wish I could stop feeling like this,’ he says. A lot. To the point where I’m worried about him. I - are you crying? Is someone crying? If this is Big Marlin’s gang again, the police might not have given me Witness Protection but they are gonna suspect you right away…”

Sacagawea said, “These are some of his friends who are also worried about him. He thought you could help us gain insight.”

A sigh of relief. “Oh, good. I hope that was helpful. I’ll give you the clean rate and not the dirty for this, all right? It’s not that much of a discount, but…”

“That’s be enough, thanks. Be, uh, be gentle with your vertebrae.” 

“Will do.”

Lewis hung up. He appeared to be addressing the table. “John Andre’s neck has never been quite the same since a few bad choices about a year ago. I kept the postcard because I’ve started thinking of him as a friend. Which is not even the most pathetic thing I’ve said this week.”

“Do you need a glass of water?” Sacagawea asked.

He shook his head, still looking down at the table. He accepted the tissue held out to him. “Thanks, ‘Wea.”

“I’m not the one to thank, Lou.” She pointed.

John met Lewis’ startled eyes. “We’re gonna have to lay some ground rules, at least for the time being.”

“Yes.”

“For starters, either a new couch, or new upholstery or something so it looks different.” 

At first John was worried that would sound ridiculous, but Lewis nodded. “We can get another one. Burn this one.”

“You can’t keep dealing with emotional distress by burning objects,” Sacagawea said, as if she’d been telling him this for years.

“I didn’t mean indoors, I’m not that helpless at following common sense.” Lewis went back to John. “Does that mean you’ll stay?”

“General Lee never answered for his words. You’ve never cheated me or mistreated me, and, well, you answered for your actions.”

Ned added, “If you yield, then I’m satisfied.”

“Thank you. I found the Louisiana Purchases folder, by the way. I’d left it at home.”

“I hope you didn’t burn that,” John said, cautiously smiling a tiny bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't read "Midnight Blues", my John Andre is based on the British spy who worked with Benedict Arnold and used to be (or maybe still was) lovers with Arnold's wife, Peggy Shippen. Those two got away. Andre got hanged by the Patriots, despite being considered gallant, honorable, charming (and sexy) by pretty much everybody. Lafayette and Von Steuben were both on the panel that sentenced him, yet Lafayette wept at his execution, Washington made sure he had a good last meal, and Hamilton thought it was a shame. 
> 
> Andre was upset at being hanged rather than shot by firing squad, seeing it as more demeaning, but he said he wasn't afraid of dying itself, and that it would be "Only a momentary pang." He tied his own blindfold and slipped the noose around his own neck. The crowd got sniffly. His body was exhumed by the British and sent home for burial, and his mother and sisters given a pension. Seldom has feeling obligated to do something "for the principle of the thing" been so extreme. 
> 
> In "Midnight Blues", it was established that "Ben", "Margaret", and Andre sold recordings of calls made to Andre by a notoriously homophobic and macho gang leader. He got grabbed and nearly killed; they didn't. Andre and Lewis figured out each other's real identities. Andre's a big fan of Lewis' work.


	13. Other People's Love Lives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three discussions of what it says in the title.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my quest to include tributes to as many real late 18th/early 19th century non-straight-white-dudes as possible, I hadn't previously included a famous historical non-cisgender person. I decided to fix that. 
> 
> This chapter discusses someone based on a historical person whose pronoun situation is sufficiently complex that Wikipedia chooses to just use that person's name over and over. The real person didn't have access to the vocabulary we would use today, nor an environment that would allow making preferences known. However, for the purposes of the AU, I have assigned "they/them" to my fictional version. This is not meant to be a statement of opinion about the actual BAMF.

“You’re the only person I’m close to who’s had an orientation crisis.”

 _Hello to you, too._ John paused the Youtube video he’d been watching, and cradled his phone more comfortably. “Are you okay, Pierre?”

“I know it’s not nearly as bad as what you went through, but - well, maybe I wouldn’t call it a crisis so much as a confusion. A dithering?” Pierre sounded like he was eating something crunchy. He’d shared in group therapy that he liked wasabi peas while pondering complex matters. 

“Are you having feelings for someone? You’re already sure you’re pansexual, so is this, like, a confusion over whether you’re really homoromantic?" 

“Yeah. Chev. I don’t know what they were designated as at birth. They kissed me and said that wasn’t just for anyone to know. The fencing club’s got a betting pool going on about it, which Chev thinks is hilarious.”

“Wait.” This chimed with something in John’s memory. “As a senior, Lafayette mentioned a debate at a tournament between UVA and UMW about whether a certain fencer should go up against male or female opponents. The name was unusual.”

“You don’t remember the name?”

“I couldn't remember wanting to live.”

“That makes it tough. It was probably Chev. They’re older than me and took a year off to deal with some personal stuff, so Lafayette could have overlapped.”

A nice thing about being friends with Pierre was he just rolled with the ‘suicidal’ remark. Not ignored, not tiptoed around, simply treating it like any other statement. Not many people did. Sometimes John wanted to treat all those dark things as normal and not have it pointed out to him that it wasn’t. 

“You think you could be legitimately falling for them.”

“Legitimately falling. Uh huh. I don’t think it’s morally wrong of me, dear God no - SEVEN - but it’s never happened before. It’s always been cis guys.”

“Do they know?”

“They figured it out, said they’ve confused a lot of people in the past, and they’re pretty fond of me themself.” Pierre was wobbling on the line between exhilaration and anxiety. “Friedrich says I’m - falling - overthinking. I don’t know which relationship would upset my parents more.”

“Are your parents transphobic? Cissexist? I’m not sure which word fits here.”

“Neither, but my life is complicated, you know? And my parents worry about me complicating it further. Which, too late, but they don’t know. Reinette introduced us. They’re pretty tight. Friedrich’s supportive of me being me. He had a - I guess ‘sugar baby’s’ the closest term, even though I hate the phrase - he had one of those, who was super transphobic. It was one of the reasons Friedrich cut him off.”

“I’m glad he’s on the same page with you about that. I’d say continue to be honest with yourself and with everyone you’re dating or want to date, and let things happen. They don’t have to pick a gender, and you don’t have to pick an orientation.” 

Rustling, maybe from the bag of what were maybe wasabi peas maybe being closed. “I like that. Thanks a bunch. Chev's coming over in ten minutes, so I should get ready.”

“Pre-date jitters?”

“Something like that. Thank you! See you!”

“You have literally done the same for me. Talk to you soon.”

***

John paused the show he was watching with Missy in order to answer the door. "First question: since when does the U.S. Postal Service deliver twice a day? Second question: Since when do postal workers knock on the door when all they have to deliver are two small envelopes? Third question: Since when are you our mailman?"

"I'm the mailman to the place where all three of us met! Or, I guess, got reunited, when it comes to you two." Israel Bissell grinned and placed the envelopes in John's hands. "I'm off the clock. The uniform comes in handy. People don't question your presence. You'd think more robbers would try it."

The envelopes were cream-colored paper with a swirly texture, beautifully hand-lettered. Wait. He knew that style. "Did Cato write the addresses?"

"He did. We decided to be badass messengers of good tidings as our way to contribute. Don't open Martha's! That's a federal offense! See you tomorrow for the campaign, Sir Sabre the Doubtless." Israel waved at Missy, who was too deep in blankets and hot cocoa to want to get up. She waved back.

John sat next to her and handed the correct one over. He tried to open the envelope nicely. It was too pretty to just rip.

Not for his sister, apparently. "Ooh! Hercules and Elsie are getting married!"

"Yeah, it's pretty cool." There were two cards inside John's envelope. The first said:

_You are cordially invited to come witness and celebrate the official union of_

_ELIZABETH "ELSIE" SANDERS and HERCULES MULLIGAN_

_On Saturday, January 14_

_Which is part of a three-day weekend, which we hope you guys appreciate, because booking an adorable little lodge right by the Potomac on a prime weekend means you gotta beg, steal, borrow, or barter. We won't tell you which ones we did._

_Times, address, and official wedding Facebook page on reverse._

The second card said, 

_As this is to be a small wedding, we will be unable to allow many guests to bring their own guests. However, some of you have pals or significant others that we think would be great additions, but we don't know super well ourselves._

_It is up to you, John Laurens, whether you would like to invite Eduardo "Ned" Stevens. We wish you could invite Lafayette, because every party is better with Lafayette, but we know he'll be gone. Sadface._

_P.S. Don't worry, we've offered Eliza the option of bringing Alexander._

"Can I see your second card?" John asked when he was done laughing. 

Missy's second card had the same first paragraph, but the rest of her card said:

_You can bring Doctor Ramzi David. We know you want to. C'mon. We dare you. You can do it! You go, girl!_

"That's how you spell it? I've been spelling it wrong in my head." John handed it back. "Will I get to meet him beforehand?"

Missy squirmed a little, but not unpleasantly. "Maybe when the swelling goes down. A second-floor patient took a swing at him when he was fixing up some self-harm damage. He's self-conscious. Did you, uh, I mean, did I tell you he's trying to get me to turn one of my essays for my course into something that could get published? He thinks I'm a good writer."

"I'd be able to tell you how accurate that is if you ever showed me anything you've written." He raised an eyebrow at her. 

"You know how I get shy, Jack!"

"I do. Now, let's find out if Maria's handsome stranger is going to turn out to be the greedy landlord's son. I think it's a red herring." John picked up the remote.

"I think the writers of this one are not sophisticated enough for anything but heavily telegraphed plot twists. You're on."

 

***

Martha "Martian" Manning was rocking her crying daughter on the other side of the video call. "Jane's thinking of quitting her day job. Not so much because Frances can't cope without her, what with me and her father and aunts, but because she's getting sick of explaining the same facts about the same cathedral over and over."

"I heard her novel's doing well. Congrats."

"Kindle top seller, and she's been doing interviews." Martian sounded very proud. Then Frances screamed for no apparent reason. Martian seemed unsurprised, so John didn't say anything about it.

"I bought the eBook, but I've only read a few pages so far. Not because I don't like it, but a lot of emotional stuff has happened recently and I didn't have the focus."

"Ebooks are more profitable. You've done your duty, Earthling. Now that _Snark and Sensitivity_ has so much attention, 'Persuasions" is getting a lot of hits and submissions. The ad revenue's gone up, too. She's going to need to make it longer, or pass over lots of opportunities to give advice regarding a lot of interesting complications about other people's love lives." 

A thought struck John. "Does she only take U.K. submissions? I know someone who might want to ask her something."

"Her gentle humor and wisdom transcends borders," Martian assured him. 

"Then she's a good match for you." John paused. "I miss you."

"I miss you, too. Why are you an ocean away?"

"You're the one who sailed off to London. Then, uh, drove to Hampshire?"

"I took a train, but yeah. Shh, Francie, life's better than you think it is."

"See, gentle humor and wisdom."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- The Chevalier d'Eon was an amazing French soldier, spy, and diplomat, whose perceived gender over the years was more complicated than I have room for here. Being valuable, fast-talking, and having dirt on the right people allowed d'Eon to get away with it with only some trouble, rather than ruin or death. There was a real betting pool as to what d'Eon's birth designation was - by the LONDON STOCK EXCHANGE. Feel free to look up the autopsy results.
> 
> \- Historical Martha Laurens' husband, David Ramsay, was a politician, historian, and physician. He was murdered by a man he'd given a psychiatric evaluation to as part of a court case, and among his dying words were that the man should not be held responsible for his actions. He valued Martha's intellect, and published her writings on current affairs after her death. He helped her tell her story. <3
> 
> \- I don't know about other places in the U.S., but in the DC metropolitan area, it would be really odd not to see a lot of POC immigrant doctors in a hospital. While looking up David Ramsay, I discovered that Ramsey/Ramsi/Ramzi is a common Arabic name, and that in Lebanon (an Arabic-speaking country), David is often used as a surname. Happy coincidence.
> 
> \- Also while researching David Ramsay, I ran into some stuff about all the rich South Carolinians marrying all the other rich South Carolinians, which I hadn't previously investigated. Remember when I had John eye up Thom a few chapters ago? Real Thomas Pinckney was Real John Laurens' nephew-in-law. O_0 Whoops. XD


	14. Tattoo Revival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's got an appointment to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Many thanks to enigmairi for telling me to check out James Miranda Barry. As with d'Eon, it's hard to know how he would have wanted to be perceived without societal pressure. That said, he's a great candidate to increase this AU's diversity as well as deserving a shout-out.
> 
> \- My self-imposed rule of all named characters being based on people whose lifetimes intersected with Eliza Hamilton's is getting harder. If you know anyone you think might be an interesting fit, I welcome suggestions. I am willing to provide a decade-ish of wiggle room if the person was not a cishet white dude. 
> 
> \- I apologize for how large the image I've inserted turned out to be. I don't know how to fix it. It is an actual drawing made by the young real John Laurens.
> 
> \- There's a brief mention of good ol' Henry Laurens.

John got a phone call on Friday night, after the plot twist in which Maria found out that the handsome stranger was in fact the greedy landlord’s nephew. Missy claimed that this means she won the plot-twist guessing game, which John contested.

“What’s up, Lewis?” John got off the couch and headed for the kitchen to fetch a soda. 

“Hey, so you know the tattoo design you asked me to do?”

“Yeah, I got your email. Loved it. Did you not get the email back? Did I format it inaccessibly for you?” He usually remembered to keep paragraphs short and use Verdana or Arial fonts, 1.5 spacing, but sometimes he forgot one or more of those measures that helped Lewis read.

“No, I read it, but your sister sent me an email shortly after.”

John turned his head away from the phone to address the culprit, who’d just gone into the bathroom but could hear him. “Missy, what did you do to my assistee?” 

In the wake of the recent incident between them, Lewis had suggested John, as his assistant, calling Lewis his “assistee” instead of “boss”. The idea was to make them feel more equal in their power dynamic. It actually did help a little. John had briefed Missy on the change and let her draw her own conclusions about the fight they’d clearly had. 

“I gave him backstory and insight,” Missy declared. She was always more melodramatic for a few hours after they watched a telenovela. 

Lewis continued, “She sent me a photo of a drawing you’d done before leaving for college. All she could remember was that as a child you’d found a sick one in a stream near your home in South Carolinian suburbia, and tried to help it. She didn’t know the species, but it’s clearly a Florida softshell. It would have been near the northern edge of its range, of course, but the picture is unmistakable. And you drew that with hardly any training.”

“I spent way too much time trying to draw Florida softshell turtles,” John said softly. The turtle had been the last thing he was allowed to cry over for more than ten years.

A beat in the conversation. Then Lewis said, “I honestly think you should base the tattoo on that drawing. Box turtles - some species can feasibly be kept as pets, of course you know the Chesapeake one really must not - well, I’m not sure if they’re the ‘you’ turtle. Which is a phrase I never thought I’d say. Softshell turtles make more sense to me. Their shells are harder than you’d think. They can hide, but they also hunt. Most related species are threatened or endangered, but they’re thriving.”

John thought about it. “You think it’s a better design than yours?”

“From an aesthetic standpoint I think they’re equal. From a symbolic standpoint, better by a long shot. Perhaps it’s best that you don’t go around with what amounts to, uh, my mark on you, you know? In light of…”

“Good point. Symbolism. Thanks, Lewis. It means a lot to me how much you’ve thought about this.”

“I think a lot about things that matter. See you on Monday.”

“Yeah.”

When Missy rejoined him, she said, “Sorry for going behind your back about this, but I knew you wouldn’t believe it if it came from me. I remember how sad you were. I remember Dad yelling at you and Mami for getting so worked up about something ‘stupid and childish’. I thought, well, it’s safe for you to be softer now, you know? You’ve learned that there are things that can be fixed after all.”

John hugged her. “Pierre’s gonna squee tomorrow.”

\---

Pierre did squee the next day, when they drove down to Fredericksburg to make the appointment with the tattoo artist. After much deliberation, Pierre had decided he could only entrust John to the same artist who’d done his second and third tattoos. He’d gotten the crossed French and Vietnamese flags on his inner left wrist done in France. He joked that he could only trust a French artist to properly imprint the _la indulgence_ underneath the flags.

Of the two by the artist in question, John had seen the one on his right shoulder blade, of an American mockingbird. There wasn’t any label or whatnot, but John knew it was _Polyglottos mimus_. Many-Tongued Mimic. The tattoo was highly accurate and nicely shaded. He hadn’t seen the cursive ‘Speechless’ at the very top of Pierre’s inner left thigh, but Lafayette and Adrienne had assured him that it was very well done.

They were in Pierre’s studio apartment, seated at the only table - though there was a desk partially hidden behind the bamboo screen that Pierre had set up to create a cozy nook for his bed. Pierre moved his coffee aside to keep from knocking it onto the design printout they were showing him. “So you took Alexander handwritten version of Lafayette's words and Photoshopped them in?”

“Yes.” John had asked Alexander to write the ‘everything’ and the ‘necessary’ separately to allow for easy manipulation. 

“So, finish your coffee and go?” Missy asked. 

“Actually, I was talking to Chev last night about this, and they said they’re good friends with the artist and might be able to negotiate a discount. Do you mind picking them up? It's really close.”

Fifteen minutes later, John was shaking the hand of an aesthetically pleasing person in a loose-fitting autumn-colored outfit, with a military-esque jacket and necktie, but also high-heeled boots and a light touch of makeup. Their physicality in general reminded him of the anime posters Missy plastered her room with in her teens. John would not have liked to wager any substantial amount of money on Chev’s birth designation, and wondered how popular the betting pool Pierre had mentioned turned out to be. 

“Thank you for convincing Pierre to stop agonizing over something he doesn’t need to,” Chev said, tucking back a lock of damp, freshly-showered hair. Ears not pierced. “It made last night far better. Also I hear you fence?”

John clamped down on his speculations about how last night had been better, and focused on the question. “Fenced. Permanent right shoulder wound.”

They sighed and tsked. “That’s a shame. Lafayette and I were three for four against each other by the time he graduated. He got them let me fence one female and one male opponent at the start of the tournament, then continue against whichever binary gender I beat by a narrower margin. To reduce people whining, you see. That was my favorite solution. The UMW team’s stood up for my not revealing my legal designation as long as anyone at all is willing to fence me. But I’m babbling on. Hello, you must be Martha. I like the bumper stickers. Which of you chose the Welcome to Night Vale one?”

James Barry’s Tattoo Revival was a short distance away from the ‘charming downtown area’ - Pierre snickered at the in-joke and made John laugh as well - in the modern and non-college part of the city.

“If you have time to stick around,” Pierre said en route, “We could show you the Civil War spots. Chev’s double-majoring in Pre-Law and Historic Preservation.” 

“I’m helping organize the Ghost Walk this year, and keeping it as close to longstanding local folklore as possible,” Chev said, making a sweeping gesture towards the Confederate Cemetery. 

“We’ve got plans tonight and want to get home before traffic on I-95 gets ugly,” Missy said, regretfully. 

“I’d love to try that some other weekend, though,” John added, partly to be honest and partly because Pierre was shrinking in on himself with disappointment. 

Chev nudged Pierre with their elbow. “Friedrich’s abducting you at five, don’t forget.”

The Tattoo Revival was bright and sterile to Missy’s satisfaction, but that took her twenty minutes to establish. Then she started interrogating the calm tattoo assistant, who was clearly used to ruder. John spent that time showing Barry the printout and explaining where Martian and had decided he should get it. Then Chev and Pierre sternly told him to shut up and let them take care of the quote.

Pierre sidled up to the Barry. “I recommended you to him. He came from out of town on my rec. He’s one of my favorite people in the whole world.”

“Stop poking my awards,” the artist said, matter-of-fact.

“He has Tourette’s,” Chev said, matter-of-fact.

“Yeah, I know, that’s why I made him pay extra because I had to be extra vigilant of him moving and me slipping. It was more for the one on his thigh, because a scant few inches northward would have been horrific.”

“And who - horrific - tipped you an additional $80 on top of that? For a black-and-white solid line two-word phrase? In a session where my only tics were verbal ones?” Pierre submitted to Chev taking his hand and redirecting the poking to a wall. 

Chev patted Pierre’s head and then traced the outline of John’s tattoo in midair. “Four hours-ish, right? Small but lots of shading.”

“Should be. Might be three and a half.”

“You normally charge about $100 an hour.”

“If people don’t rub me the wrong way when they first come in, yeah.”

Missy said, “Hah!” from where she was now looking at samples of art Barry had done himself, up on the wall. 

“John’s a vet,” Pierre said, hopefully.

“And John doesn’t like using that as a bargaining tool,” John scolded.

“When he heard about us dating, John told Pierre that I don’t have to pick a gender and he doesn’t have to pick an orientation,” Chev murmured.

The set of Barry’s jaw softened. “Hm. Take off your shirt, John, if you don’t mind. I can justify a bigger discount if that area’s really simple to deal with, on you.”

John did, and handed it to Pierre, who’d recovered. “The side without the scars.”

“I could do it on the side with the scarring, if you liked. It wouldn’t be impossible.”

“Even if I have less sensation?”

Barry unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt to reveal the upper edges of top surgery scars. One was mostly covered up by what looked somewhat like the classic doctor symbol, but thanks to the logos on a bunch of Missy’s course materials, John knew that it was the slightly different staff of Asklepios, god of healing. Also when he looked carefully, he could see the little tongues on the serpents. The other side said, DOCTORS DON’T KNOW EVERYTHING. “I fell into this profession. Wasn’t the plan. I was medical school, but besides people being asshats, I had to quit to afford what I needed. I don’t hide the fact. People like to think my educational background means they’re in good hands, while really they’re in good hands becames I’m good at what I do.”

John said, “I like that your cover-ups are defiant. I feel like putting anything on mine takes away from reminding me I survived, if that makes sense.” Might as well be honest and open to someone who’s going to spend four hours forever altering him.

“It does.” Barry rebuttoned his shirt. “Chev and I met in group therapy. Gives me a soft spot for them, and people who accept them.”

John let out a surprised laugh. Then he feared that might be taken the wrong way. “Sorry, Pierre and I met in group therapy, see.”

“That’s amazing. You can put your shirt back on. I can reduce it by $90. Consider it Pierre having paid it forward, with an extra decent-person credit. But don’t get any ideas, French boy.”

“Of course not.” Pierre gave Barry the hand-heart gesture. 

Barry started giving John pre-tattoo and post-tattoo care advice, but Missy turned out to know all of it already. He noted their appointment for next Saturday  
The four of them had lunch together in the charming downtown area (“We’re going to be milking that for years,” Pierre said, which made Missy cough from giggling while drinking a beer). 

When the appetizers got there, Chev said, “Wait, Lafayette is paying for that, right?”

“Mmhm.” John grabbed a cheesy fried thing before Missy could get them all. 

“Isn’t he appallingly rich? I’m happy to have helped, but I can’t help but wonder how much $90 means to him.”

“It means something to me,” John said. “Thank you for it.”

“This is all my birthday present to you. Plus, if he isn’t careful, Lafayette could end up broke and homeless.” Pierre sounded deflated every time he said Lafayette’s name. John knew he only had one more meetup scheduled between him and Adrienne.

“So many people love him that they’d find a way to support him,” John said, trying to cheer up up. 

Missy hid her mouth behind her napkin as she talked, since it was full. “Yeah, but you’d be sad for Lancelot to be forced to switch from a white horse to a bicycle.”

“Exactly.” Pierre stole a sip of Chev’s drink. 

“There’s a difference between ‘flirty’ and ‘bratty’, kiddo,” Chev said. Then they did it back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- John's tattoo is going to be a little smaller than that picture. The drawing and at least two others were published in a real scientific journal. Guess who squashed Laurens' dreams of pursuing that field.
> 
> \- An anime indeed exists about Le Chevalier d'Eon! John made a good financial decision: the London Stock Exchange betting pool on d'Eon's physical sexual characteristics fizzled out when d'Eon refused to be examined. Also, during d'Eon's period of female presentation, d'Eon worked as a women's fencing coach, and offered to organize an army of women warriors to fight the Hapsburgs. 
> 
> \- There's a Jack Brown's Tattoo Revival in Fredericksburg, considered higher quality, but less amusing, than its competitor Sorry Mom Tattoo.
> 
> \- Dr. Barry was the first DFAB person to earn a medical degree in Britain, worked to improve the public health among both British troops and the natives of India and South Africa, and was the first British person to perform a C-Section on the African continent where both mother and child lived. Note that there is evidence of African doctors successfully managing the same feat centuries earlier, but still, give Barry props. Also: tried to get soldiers to eat more pears, to help avoid scurvy. Wasn't discovered until post-mortem.
> 
> \- What is called the University of Mary Wollstonecraft in this universe is the University of Mary Washington in ours. UMW was the first public institution of undergraduate education in Virginia to explicitly forbid discrimination on basis of sexuality or gender identity.


	15. The Duskling Fellowship Needed to Go Rescue the Halfling...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you want to talk about the issue more, or do you just want to be distracted and not alone? Because if it’s the latter, and you’re interested, the Dusklings would be happy to have you join. Right, Missy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is unrelated, and possibly conceited, but I just realized and am really pleased by a few historical diversity things in this series. Like, that my hard work has shown results. Lists include "Three Days Already", which I started after this fic but have already finished.
> 
> Current historical POC count (with lines): Sally Hemings, Phyllis Wheatley, Cato, Sacagawea, Jean-Baptiste Charbonneau, York, Pirate Empress Ching Shih, Queen Sri Suriyaren, James Armistead Lafayette (9)
> 
> Historical strongly arguable, or sometimes definite, non-cishet people with lines: Laurens, Hamilton, von Steuben, du Ponceau, Benjamin Walker, Chevalier d'Eon, Dr. James Barry, Frederick the Great. Maybe Louis de Pontiere, though he might have really just been a bring-along-from-France aide-de-camp for von Steuben? He's hard to research. (8.5, I will say) 
> 
> Queer women in history are super invisible. If you know any who are vaguely contemporary with my main cast, please send their names my way. Thank you again to enigmairi for telling me about Barry, because interpretable-as-trans-men are also thin on the representational ground. For me, Deborah Sampson reads more straightforwardly like a woman disguising herself as a man, but I 100% support others portraying it as a gender identity matter as well. I am also always open to badass women. Send those in too.

“It’s not like I didn’t know there was a strong possibility. I voluntarily chose to study and work in medical research as a field. It’s important, and I’m good at it..."

“That you are.”

“It’s not like it’s _cosmetics_ testing on animals, which is indefensible. The treatment my team’s working on has a strong chance of significantly increasing the survival odds of people with a certain type of stomach cancer. Something realistic yet amazing, not what headlines throw around all breathlessly. We simply don’t have adequate technology to run simulations or something, not well enough that it’d be safe or epistemologically sound to move straight onto human trials.”

Missy walked out to the living room. “I didn’t know you were here, Ned. You guys okay?”

Ned waved faintly from his position, sort of lying on the couch but also sort of nestled in John’s lap. “Hi. I wandered in uninvited less than twenty minutes ago.” He had a key.

“He got an email saying that there’s a change of plan, and he’s going to be assigned to live animal testing.”

“Rats. Deliberately making them sick.” Ned sighed. “I confirmed that I was onboard. I stared into space a bit. Then I hopped on the Metro over here. Sorry I skipped the notification step. I know you just got back from the tattoo consultation, and you’ve got another thing this evening, right?”

“I’m fine with skipping it if you need me to be here for you,” John said, taking one of his hands. "You can be sure you made the right choice and still feel miserable about going through with it. It's valid to feel miserable when you think you should be fine."

Despite the odd angle, Ned casually kissed John’s hand between two knuckles, as if that was an automatic response to having it in his grasp. “I don't want to make you skip something fun when you've already been helpful."

“Do you want to talk about the issue more, or do you just want to be distracted and not alone? Because if it’s the latter, and you’re interested, the Dusklings would be happy to have you join. Right, Missy?”

She nodded. “You’ve only met Hercules, but the others will be happy to meet you while also giving you space. Sam’s still there. He’s leaving on Monday.”

“I wouldn’t mind meeting them, especially Sam. John makes him sound really, I guess, layered? In a good way?” 

It was settled. Missy texted and received a “the more the merrier” reply. 

***

“It’s not much of a surprise birthday party,” Hercules said, “but we realized that since you’re getting your tattoo next Saturday for your birthday and you have plans all that night and the next day -”

“I do?” John asked, adjusting the paper crown Hercules had handed to him when he walked in the door. 

“Damn not-straight you do,” Ned said calmly, to general amusement. 

“I made vegetarian Jollof rice, partly because it’s one of the few dishes my mother forced me to learn, and partly because I hear that Adrienne de Lafayette’s been giving you ideas about thieboudienne being the best West African rice dish when that is _blatant lies_.” Cato gestured at the large container on the nearby kitchen counter, since the table was full of D &D paraphernalia. The usual tailoring and dressmaking things had been moved out of harm’s way now that so many people would be eating more than just snacks. 

“Strong words,” Sam said, hobbling over on his crutches to join them. He’d been in the guest room. “Also, nice to meet you, Ned.”

Cato pulled Sam’s chair out for him. “Thieboudienne is the origin of Savannah red rice, while Jollof rice is the origin of Jambalaya. This is because of which slaves ended up where and improved which cuisines. I would like to point out that Jambalaya is _famous_.”

John and Missy had grown up with a cook from Georgia who made Savannah red rice on occasion, but neither of them brought it up. John said, “I’ll be sure to tell Adrienne about the rice rivalry she’s inspired, but I don’t want this to turn into a ricemaking duel.”

“Duels are dumb and immature,” Hercules agreed. “If, occasionally, delicious.”

“I cooked chicken to add to the vegetables and spices that are already in the rice, if anyone wants to,” Israel said, indicating the container next to the rice one. 

“There's ice cream for later. And you get to use this today. Only today.” Hercules placed a d20 in front of John. Upon inspection, all but one side had a tiny sticker over the number, with a “20” written on it. The unmodified side was the side that already said “20”.

“Did you give me a kind of d20-20?” John asked, delighted. He held it up for Missy to see, then for Ned to see.

“I’m afraid I don’t know the significance,” Ned told him.

Sam perked up. “Ooh, I was studying the manual, may I test my knowledge? Ned, I don’t play either, no experience, but as you can see I’ve been less active recently, and I’ve enjoyed Hercules’ reference books. Especially how he and Elsie drew those objectified female warriors some practical yet appropriately fantastical clothing and armor and glued on the modifications.”

“It was the Snowpocalypse year, and we were trapped and without power and getting sick of each other,” Hercules clarified. “Go ahead, Sam.”

“As I understand it, the dice are like Luck and Hercules - the DM - is like Fate. Whenever one of the players states that their character does something, the dice determines if they succeed. Rolling a 20 is total success. Anything less has to be factored in with your….uh…”

“Stats,” Missy said.

“Right. You - they, excuse me - take the number and combine it with numbers they’ve assigned that designate their character’s abilities, which are all different and affected by the type of character. This value establishes exactly how much it’s a success versus a failure. Hercules determines details about what kind of a success versus a failure it is. Was that reasonably accurate?” Sam saw the Dusklings nod and he beamed for a moment. Then he hissed and winced.

“Are you okay?” John asked.

“I decided that I’d rather go back on my psychiatric medications than continue to be on my prescribed temporary pain medications, and I don’t regret my decision, but I do regret the - ahhh, ahh, tradeoff, because sometimes I breathe wrong, and it...”

Hercules fetched him another dose of Tylenol, after determining that he’d waited long enough since the last one, and added a pillow to clutch onto. Missy gave him permission to squeeze her hand if it would help. 

***

The Duskling Fellowship needed to go rescue Domingo the halfling, who’d been captured by the Crimson Cloaks and was probably going to be tortured for information. 

“You’re the one who put me in harm’s way by making me spy on them in the first place,” Domingo complained to the Voice of Fate, “I attempt to slip between the bars of the cell door, which must have been made with Big Folk in mind.”

Thanks to the numbers, Domingo didn’t escape the cell, but accidentally pressed a nerve cluster unique to halfling physiology that temporarily gave him reduced pain sensitivity.

“I threw you a bone because this is really good rice,” the Voice of Fate informed him.

Sir Sabre the Doubtless, meanwhile, succeeded at everything he tried, absolutely everything, and soon started trying to abuse this power. 

“I teleport all the Crimson Cloaks to their homeland,” he declared.

“You’re not a magic user,” his sister, the druid Chanterelle, told him, hiding a laugh behind her hand despite the seriousness of the situation. “It has to be consistent with your character class.”

Ranger Amalthea paused in leading her bloodstained unicorn to a stream for water. Amalthea liked to emphasize that horses and their variants needed daily care far more extensive than with, say, bicycles, and that her unicorn's ability to fend for herself was in no way a substitute for bonding. “Also, if you did that, Domingo might be left in a precarious position with nobody to help him. How’s the chicken? I did my best to follow Cato’s mother’s recipe, but I've met the woman and she is intimidating in her hyper-competence.”

“The chicken is also great, but the transition was hilarious,” Chanterelle replied. She was often the voice of reason. 

***

Sam slipped John a note while they were all waiting for Cato to get back from his prayer break in another room. _Thank you for treating me with dignity, yet not lying to me, when I was convinced my apartment was bugged._

John flipped it over and wrote, _Thank you for surprising me, and being everything I desperately wanted from my own minister growing up, but never got._ He slid it back.

"Are you tearing up, Sam?" Missy asked a moment later.

"I have poignant emotions expressing themselves in a subtle fashion," Sam said. "What exactly is a 'Charisma' rating meant to delineate, Israel? Your Amalthea's seems very high compared to the others."

Israel handed him a tissue. "Hers needs to be, since she's supposedly the leader."

"When you're done explaining that, I've got questions about the Bag of Holding," Ned added. 

***

“Can I talk to you for a sec?” Hercules asked while John was helping with the dishes. 

John followed him down to a quieter spot. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, fine. Hear me out. A series of loved ones have been bugging us about a wedding registry, when we’ve been living together a few years now and already have all the household-type shit that we want. Elsie’s decreed no wedding gifts, though she’s letting people contribute to aspects of the wedding if they ask first and it’s something that makes sense. I’ve decided to give her a surprise. I’m in cahoots with her family.”

They were interrupted by laughter from the kitchen, and John smiled because some of it was Ned’s.

Hercules fiddled with a picture of a cannon hanging on the wall, even though it was already level. “Her favorite author - who I give props for having written a lot of stellar stuff about love and romance - says on her website that she’s willing to accept speaking engagements at venues that will pay her travel and accommodation expenses. As well as what is a really modest fee, of course. I set up a crowdfunding thing, said for people to pay however much they would for the sort of gift they’d give if we were accepting them. Baby Moses in the bullrushes, some of Elsie’s folks have more money than sense. Enough’s been pledged - I won’t take the money if this fails - that we could pay the way of a traveling companion, too, which might help convince the author we’re not creepy.”

“That’s really neat, but what do you need from me?”

Despite Elsie not being due home for at least another hour, Hercules leaned in and whispered, “Someone told me you’re tight with Jane Austen’s wife.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical Edward "Ned" Stevens did a lot of great things, but I'm focusing on his medical research as the specialty of my Eduardo "Ned" Stevens. Partially for job diversity among the cast, but mainly because he was THE FIRST PERSON TO ISOLATE GASTRIC JUICES and prove several of the first few correct theories about how digestion works! How cool is that?? 
> 
> ***
> 
> As a refresher, in this AU:  
> \- Adrienne is French-born, with parents who are immigrants from Senegal.  
> \- Lafayette is French-born, with one grandmother who is an immigrant from Senegal.  
> \- Cato is a Mali-born immigrant, but became a U.S. citizen as a small child.  
> \- Phyllis is a Gambia-born immigrant, but became a U.S. citizen as a small child.  
> \- My versions of Sally Hemings, York, John Pernia, James Amistead [Lafayette], and any other "canonical" Black characters have literal slave ancestors, with the inevitable white ones mixed in here and there.
> 
> ***  
> I was researching dishes and I found out about the different and very proud rice traditions, and since I've shown Adrienne's already, I had to put something in about that.


	16. Happy Age 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I confused myself last chapter, so I want to clarify/retcon that last chapter was on Saturday, October 22, and this is the following weekend.

FRIDAY 

"What was it?" John asked when Lewis after up the phone in the outer office and returned to the inner one. John was sorting through their main documents cabinet again, but very slowly and carefully this time.

"Got a call from our publisher." The 'our' made John smile, and Lewis noticed and smiled a fraction back. He moved to stand near John - who was on the floor with a million things he hadn't filed - but not too near. "They want me to go on a brief book tour in January. I asked if I could bring an assistant. They said sure, but they're not springing for multiple hotel rooms. So I want to know if you agree with my idea to contact my _previous_ right-hand man and see if he'll be available."

John's heart went back to a healthy rhythm. "Yes. Thank you. Please."

"Pernia and I still keep in touch. I think it'll work. I'm sure you'll be able to accomplish a lot without me around. Possibly more."

"Maybe at first."

Lewis sat down on the floor near John, but not too near. He pulled a card out of his jacket pocket. "Happy age 29. You know that I know how much it means."

It was the Chesapeake box turtle design Lewis had made for him and then advised him not to use for his tattoo. John opened the card, and there was a SmartTrip Metro fare card lightly taped inside. It said, "Everything necessary for getting home."

"I wanted to give you something not, uh, potentially..." Lewis rubbed the back of his neck. "Creepy. Not potentially creepy. I won't dress it up."

"I won't be this jumpy forever, I promise."

"Be as jumpy as you need. That sounds odd. Um."

John rescued him. "Thank you, seriously. I appreciate it. It adds up over time, all those little deductions. How much is on here?"

"Why don't you go find out? Put all these papers in a box. Deal with them later."

**********************

SATURDAY MORNING

Missy did a shift shuffle so that she could be safely awake early enough to accompany to John his appointment. Not that everything was going perfectly smoothly.

"How did you lose your glasses? You keep them on your face!"

"I don't keep them on my face when I do my pilates video and subsequently flop into bed from exhaustion! This is hideously early morning for me. Cut me some slack."

It turned out Missy had left her glasses on one of the living room bookshelves for some reason. Then it was John's turn to be confused about inanimate objects. "Whose running shoes are those in front of the door?"

"Yours." She snuck up on him and kissed his cheek. "Your old ones are holes with occasional cloth and rubber. Don't make a fuss about the price. This is the first birthday of yours that I've celebrated with you in ten years."

That shut him up.

Pierre's most recent text series said he would have loved to meet them for a lunch, but he was trying to get a lot done so he'd be free for Halloween festivities. Plus Pierre was hoping to do something with Chev whenever they got back from their quick trip to DC. 

John dictated a text for Missy to send. She could be relied upon not to do anything else with his phone while it was unlocked in her grasp. _Don't worry, we'll want to get back home early anyway. I'm sure we'll see both of you soon._

Pierre's reply came just as John and Missy were about to enter the apartment. _Definitely. It'll be an adventure._

***

SATURDAY 

Yes, nervous, since it's my first one. Yes, ate, drank, peed, am sober, all that.

Is it okay to wear headphones? My friend Adrienne made me a "while in pain" playlist. She didn't let me listen to it beforehand.

I don't like full-on surprise parties. The one Missy and some friends threw me last week didn't fully count, since it was just a more festive version of a social gathering I already expected. A single friend showing up by surprise is fine too. It's the full onslaught.

My sister's intentions to read a textbook while holding my hand doesn't mean she's indifferent. It means she has a lot to do and is taking time out of her busy schedule as best she can. I know you were joking, but look at her face now that I've said that. Aww.

Okay. Ready for the moment of adrenaline - FUCK.

I'll be fine, I'll be fine, my other shoulder - DAMN - got blown up a bunch of years ago and shot last - ahhhhh - year, I'm choosing this...

_And so young Margaret withdrawwws to the taigaaaaaaa...._

***

SATURDAY EVENING

_Much as I want to see you, John, that's gonna have to wait for tomorrow afternoon, evening, and as much of night as you can manage. I've been persuaded to yield the floor. Happy birthday. <3 _

"You can text Ned back about what he means when we're in the apartment, Jack. I'm cold. Don't just stand there." Missy practically shoved him up the stairs. 

When John opened the door, Alexander was sitting in a dining chair he'd dragged to the correct position to make the most dramatic image. He waved. "Happy birthday, QP."

"All of you are such jerks," John said, not sure why or how he was tearing up and laughing at the same time. He felt rooted to the spot.

"Meet me inside!"

"Yes, meet him inside, let your sister in her own home." Missy laughed.

When they hugged, John said, "Mind the shoulder, no, the other one," and Alexander joked that John was just trying to confuse him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John is (quietly) singing along to part of the "The Hazards of Love" album by the Decemberists. It's an indie rock opera/mythpunk album about Margaret, who falls in love with a young man who's trapped in the body of a fawn by day (as one does) and gets pregnant and tries to find him, not knowing about the Queen or the Rake until shit really starts going down. 
> 
> There's a wonderful fic, "wrestle the thistles undone" by digitalis, which takes its title from it. The fic is canon era Hamilton Fair Folk AU. Bi!Adrienne goes to America, meets Fae!Lafayette in the woods, and is badass and no-nonsense in the face of your nastier Unseelie Court type stuff.


	17. Pizza and Overwrought Analogies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander's here for John's birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was totally going to link this in the notes for chapter 15! I've been sitting on it for weeks! I found a Ham4Ham where LMM's birthday gift to Thayne Jasperson is getting to sing Farmer Refuted with swapped parts, so that Thayne finally gets to win. Also Seabury's part is clearly out of LMM's range, even when he transposes it, haha.
> 
>  
> 
> [how is he so tiny and cute ](http://youtu.be/LcMuuNLsOt4)
> 
> Meanwhile, have a return of John and Alexander Being Ridiculously Queerplatonic.

“I ate lunch already. With Ned. I actually got to Union Station last evening, spent the night and morning with Eliza and had lunch with Ned. I had to go see Eliza first, you know, because I’m still the only person she’s interested in having sex with and that’s a serious responsibility that I take very seriously. I don’t have to leave until ten tomorrow morning. I brought more of the stuff we ate for lunch. I missed you. I will also hug your sister because she’s cool, but I will come right back and hug you some more.”

Missy accepted Alexander’s hug with a fond pat on the back. “How manic are you?”

“Enough that everyone is more comfortable with me not driving, and my roommate Patrick froze my credit card in a big ice block as a favor. He enjoys calling himself Keeper of the Crystal Cube. Eliza now has my checkbook. If I cheat, she’ll burn it. If and when it’s all clear, she’ll mail it. I get to use the cash Thom calculated and counted out in my wallet, and if there’s an emergency I can use the cash he put in a sealed envelope, but I will have to tell him what that envelope cash was used for. All by my own request. G-Wash used to do similar things for me. He was the one who helped me get my manic shopping addiction under control for the first time."

Alexander took the bottle of water John put in one of his hands, released Missy, and drank half of it. John hugged him some more. “It’s been less than a month since I saw you. It felt a lot longer.”

“I know, right? Thom and I agreed that me getting pizza for us tonight is an acceptable expenditure.”

“None for me, thanks. Let me know if you guys need something. Otherwise, leave me alone.” Missy sounded like a woman in need of a nap. John would be sure to keep Alexander in his room as much as possible, and therefore less likely to disturb her with excited loudness. 

Or possibly his own excited loudness. He wondered if he was a little high on adrenaline and endorphins. “We actually stopped at a Quiznos on the way back because we were both starving, so let’s skip to the part where I show you…”

“THE SWEET NEW INK YESSSSSS.”

***

“So, like, your boyfriend and your sister were my major co-conspirators, and I talked to them about their respective insights about you, and your past, and Ned’s insights in his capacity as my brother-from-another-mother, which is not to suggest that I think we share a father, though there are people who have suggested that. The biggest reason I doubt that is because I don’t think the Stevenses would have let me bounce around foster homes so much if I’d been related to them and they’d known it. Like, his dad _has_ traveled a lot over the decades. I won’t slutshame my mom; she got enough of that. Aw, man, Jim would be really annoyed! It’s bad enough to be James Hamilton Junior, but if it turned out he was the only one who got stuck with those genes..." 

Alexander trailed off and grabbed the present he gave John last year. Zissou the manatee could bridge any awkward pause.

John had taken his shirt off to show Alexander, and while he was at it he took off the protective wrap, so the skin could breathe for a few hours. He was sitting up on his bed, still shirtless, but with a robe loosely enfolding him for warmth. Alexander was sprawled next to him, shirtless for solidarity. “What did you glean from their combined wisdom?”

“Right! That the way Ned and I celebrated my fourteenth birthday would go over well. I hadn’t really made other friends yet. You have a lot more friends now than I did until Doctor Knox got a decent med mix going. Hey, do you see Doctor Greene for meds these days?”

“I do.” Continuing to see Doctor Washington would be too strange now that John seemed to have become one of his strays, but Greene was another Vernon psychiatrist and inclined to be lenient about payments thanks to him being a staff member’s brother. Also he was very capable, and took outpatient appointments on Thursdays. 

“Give him my regards. Ned and I celebrated that birthday with pizza, a Buffy the Vampire Slayer marathon in the background, and talking about silly things.”

“I like it. Can it be an Orange is the New Black marathon? I’ve seen it all, so I won’t get too wrapped up.” John didn’t have a TV in his room, but they could arrange his laptop on his desk at an angle where sprawling at odd angles on the bed would still work.

“Can we periodically start yelling about social justice as inspired by plot points in the show, only to return to triviality because there is a time for action, but the time is not when you are half-naked and cradling your QP’s plush manatee in your arms and rubbing your face on it because it’s so soft?”

“I thought that was implied.”

***

“...That’s how Patrick ended up shrieking ‘Give me liberty or give me death!’ in the middle of the meeting,” Alexander concluded.

“That’s certainly memorable. Hey, out of curiosity, do you find what’s onscreen right now arousing?” 

“You mean the female-female goings-on as part of the gripping drama? Somewhat. That poster on your wall is new.”

“Not that aroused, then.”

“Do you see how many scratches and hickeys I have on my person? I need to meet up with Eliza more often. She did her best to wear this manic boy out. It’s a new poster.”

“Yeah, it’s from Adrienne. Steam Powered Giraffe’s newest album has a song called ‘Salgexicon’, about the band’s actual D&D characters. It has the line ‘Scarla the war witch slices and dices, her magic is deadly; she’s also the sister of Salgexicon’. Since Missy’s D&D character is a druid who’s the sister of my character, Adrienne decided she had to get me a signed print of the corresponding official art and lyrics. I offered to put it in the living room, but Missy says only our bedrooms are allowed to look immature.”

"Sure. Oh my god, it keeps hitting me that you have my handwriting of Lafayette's words on you body. Except I can't talk about Lafayette right now because I want to stay floaty and just pleased that you're alive and here with me, not worrying about Lafayette going away." 

***

They got a customized pizza that was half pepperoni and spinach (“I promised Eliza I’d eat vegetables more.”) and half spinach, mushroom, and green pepper. Alexander insisted on paying for the pizza itself, so John provided a generous tip. They left one slice of each half in the refrigerator with a note saying: “AN OFFERING TO LITTLE MISSY MARTHA, SHOULD SHE CHANGE HER MIND. WILL BE DISPOSED OF THROUGH PROPER CHANNELS SHOULD HER MIND REMAIN UNCHANGED. <3”

“I once had this dream when I was in Basic,” John said thoughtfully, eating his pizza crust despite not liking it that much, because witnessing food waste still stressed Alexander out. “I was at a really good salad bar. That was it. That was the dream.”

“Weirdo.” Alexander threw a pepperoni slice in the air and caught it in his mouth. “Hey, wanna watch a compilation of those satisfying videos of things on conveyor belts and being arranged neatly and so on?”

“Why not?”

***

“What are you gonna do for Halloween?”

“Missy will have work, so I’ll hand out candy to the really little kids who live in our complex and whose parents prefer to have them go from apartment to apartment rather than from house to house. Otherwise nothing. I might work from home a bit to make up for recent disruptions. I’ve been digitizing Lewis’ work and want to put it in a nicely sorted Google drive so that a fire or flood wouldn’t destroy everything.” Also no more paperclip accidents, though John didn’t say that. Alexander knew that there had been “a conflict” that had been resolved, that was all.

“Yeah, I’m gonna be boring and harness the mania to get as much done as I can before my next crash.” Alexander was working his way through the last piece of his side of the pizza (not counting Missy’s theoretical share) in an absentminded way. They were now watching Cupcake Wars on nearly mute.

“Pierre’s the only person I’ve talked to who seems to have truly fun plans.”

“Ah, to be an undergrad again.” Alexander got a text and laughed with delight.

John sat up. “What?”

“Thom’s been cheerleading for Liz in this Go tournament all day, and she just made it to the final four contestants. He’s been cheerleading while working on a paper, though, because Go games take forever. Worse spectator sport than chess. Decent prize money in her tournament. It motivates his cheering. Before you ask, he’s also been trash-talking her opponents, but they don’t know. He does it when Liz isn’t looking so she doesn’t giggle.”

“I wasn’t gonna ask, but that sounds great. Can I pause this? I need to use the bathroom.”

When John got back, Alexander was lying on the floor, rubbing the carpet with his palms. “I’m fine. I just like the texture of your carpet. You’re a good mania babysitter. At least it’s more playful this time, not aggressive or grandiose. Or sexually insatiable. I’m sated through, like, Tuesday, probably, and if there’s nobody interested around I can take care of myself. Though I also really want to get Eliza some jewelry I can’t afford and I know I mustn’t. That’s bugging me a bit. She doesn’t even like sapphires. I checked.”

“Have you hit the peak yet? Also, can you help me wrap up the tattoo again so I can put on a shirt?"

“I think I’m close, but not totally there. It’s better than we first met, though, way better. And it’s shorter. If it’s proportionate, this whole thing will have taken less than a month when I’ve had ones that took several months. One took six months. I wrote fifty-one essays when the sum total of all my coursework only required between eight and nine, depending on what projects I chose. This feels tamer. You know?”

John picked out a t-shirt to sleep in, whenever that ended up happening. Alexander was in hummingbird mode, it was true, but when they’d first met, he was like an _agitated, disoriented_ hummingbird. Chipper, affectionate hummingbird was more than fine. “I know.”

***

Alexander consented to lying in bed in clothes conducive to sleep, with the lights off, because John had such an intense day. He agreed that he should lie fairly still and speak at a low volume for the same reason. He snuggled up next to John. Ned was fine with John cuddling with close friends while fully clothed and on couches and floors and ON beds, but only Alexander could do it in sleepwear and IN bed. Ned was apologetic about this, and said it had nothing to do with his trust in John, but he only trusted Alexander to really do just that in such a setting and not try more.

When John brought this up, Alexander said, “That’s because everything physical I’ve done with you, I’ve also done with him. Though admittedly with much less frequency. It’s how we relate to each other where the difference lies.”

They weren’t quite spooning. There wasn’t enough of a curve. They were more like pie servers. It was nice. “Oh?”

“Let’s imagine life as a battlefield.”

“Not much of a stretch.”

Alexander huffed a laugh. “Uh huh. This analogy is purely for emotional intimacy. We’re not talking romantic feelings or physical contact types, as we have established that between you and him, it’s very similar. Emotional intimacy.”

“Got it.”

“Ned is like a doctor back at camp. A really great doctor. I would trust him with anything, especially making me well. Thom’s like a quartermaster or other administrative officer who organizes supplies and makes sure I’m getting support and will fight for my rights and wellbeing. Eliza comes onto the field to give me water and first aid and comfort, you know, she sees the field and she comes when I need her, but she’s not in the battle. You’re by my side, John, just as bloody and bruised, not cheering me on or patching me up. You’re in the thick of it right next to me dealing with the same kind of shit at the moment I’m dealing with it.”

There was a soft, warm sort of pause. 

Then John couldn’t help himself. “What’s Lafayette doing?” He didn't ask about Pierre, because Pierre was simply their mutual close friend they occasionally included in cuddle piles. They didn't mean they wanted him any less. Not every relationship needed to be profound and powerful or epically fraternal or whatever. 

“Lafayette's running around enraging and escaping monsters and periodically saving our necks, giving us big hugs and high-fives before dashing off again. We get to pretend he’s only ours.” Alexander sighed. “I do actually believe he cares more about some people than others, and we’re in his top few, but you gotta admit...it’s less snug when you’re held in a very big heart. I sound both cheesy and terrible, don’t I?”

“I get what you mean. When I started therapy with Angelica, I knew I would have died without Lafayette, but - don’t share this, I worry about sounding terrible too…”

 

“You can sound terrible to me. We’re both covered in gore and offal together in my overwrought metaphor.”

John smiled a little in the soft, warm darkness, and it made him brave. “In a number of ways, you’re my favorite person. Like, the easiest person to...exist with.”

“You are the only person who has ever said I’m easy to exist with. Would you be willing to sign some sort of affidavit? Stop silently giggling, it’s setting off seismic reactions throughout the bedding. I said stop it.” 

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, QP.” Alexander gently butted his head against John’s side like a baby goat trying to get attention. “I get what you mean. I love Thom, but I know he’s closer to Liz. He doesn’t know, but I know, and he’ll eventually realize. That’s fine. That doesn’t mean losing. It means winning silver. Eliza’s the moon and the sun and the aurora, John, she really is, and for some reason she seems to think I am too, but quietly, because she’s cool clear water, fathoms deep. But I worry about hurting her. It’s always in the back of my head. I worry that I’m not good enough for her, like there’s a shadow following me that’s going to cross into her light one day.”

“Strangely familiar.” Though for John, the fear was more that John’s shadow would touch Ned and reveal him to be a mirage. 

Alexander gave John’s nearest forearm a light squeeze. “But I don’t worry about hurting you. And I don’t think I’m winning silver. I don’t want to buy you roses or dress up fancy for you, I don’t want to marry you or make you swoon, or put you up in my sky and have you be my guiding star. I certainly don’t want to have sex with you - like, you’re attractive, I have eyes, but I just don’t. I just, I just, I’ve never been afraid of you. There are no wrong answers. The only loss would be you not living. On bad nights I hate everyone and everything, John, including myself - and including the people stupid enough to fall in love with me - except you.”

John found Alexander’s hair and petted it. Alexander’s breathing evened out, but not to the point that suggested sleep. “I really like what you gave me.”

“What, pizza and overwrought analogies?”

“No. What I’ve always wanted. You gave me more time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Hamilton once wrote that sometimes he hated everybody and everything, including himself, "except you, my dear Laurens".
> 
>  
> 
> \- Steam Powered Giraffe's new album, Quintessential, just dropped, and when I heard that line I knew I had to make a reference to it. Incidentally, the brother and sister who founded and remain the core of the group have the same birthday I do. Pretty cool.


	18. Sudden Drama Buddies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Excitement, in a few different forms. Plus an election!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been incredibly impatient to get to the last section of this chapter. I have been champing at the bit for weeks now.
> 
> Warning for what might be interpreted as a moment of offscreen cissexism, and for references to the thing that led to the estrangement of John and Martha Manning for several years.

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 3

“Thanks for being so understanding about me taking Tuesday and Wednesday off. That meant a lot.”

“No problem. May I ask what that was about? You don’t have to tell me.”

[ “Uh...Pierre’s datefriend went missing and I got enlisted to help find them?” ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7701772/chapters/17548228)

“Whoa.”

“It worked out.”

“That makes my story less dramatic than I thought it was going to be.”

“Why, what happened?”

“I decided I’d spend some time with JB while you were indisposed, and I took him to the park, and none of us knew he was allergic to bee stings. Thank God it happened when he was with me, because I am his only parental figure who carries an epipen, you know, for myself. Good thing I obtained two before the despicable price hike...”

“Whoa!”

“It worked out.”

They fell silent for a moment. John cautiously held up a hand for a high-five, and Lewis participated. “Sudden drama buddies.”

“Indeed. Oh, I want to break routine next Tuesday,” Lewis said, taking out a notebook and a pen.

“What’s next Tuesday?”

Lewis stared at him with nearly infinite patience.

 

***

NEXT TUESDAY: ELECTION DAY

The Shoshone woman - John had been briefed - in jeans and a VOTE JUST VOTE sweatshirt shook John’s hand before getting back into the driver’s seat of the twelve-seater van. They’d attached a sign that said FREE RIDE TO POLLS. “Hi, John. I’m Otter. I’ve heard so much. We’ve got work to do. What’s the division of labor? I need to make sure you were properly prepared for this.”

“Gee, thanks,” Lewis said, and promptly almost melted into the passenger seat when she kissed him and tidied his (disastrous) hair.

John got into the back and opened up the folder. “You drive, and by your very presence as a woman you make people feel safer getting in the car. I make sure whatever bureaucratic stuff they need is in order. I give them these flyers with brief summaries of all candidates’ platforms in plain, nonpartisan language, including lesser-known ones. Lewis gives a pep talk about how we’re not going to argue for Tubman or Jackson or hey, if they want to vote John C. Calhoun, knock yourself out, we just want as many people to participate in the democratic process as they can. Two POC and one white person helps make more demographics comfortable, and there is symbolic value that YOU are the one driving. Lewis absolutely does not make a gagging noise when he says ‘Andrew Jackson’. If someone recognizes him, he says someone’s attitude about Andrew Jackson doesn’t affect how welcome they are in this vehicle, and he doesn’t flinch or anything like that.”

“I see why you’re fond of him, Meri,” Otter said. “Buckle up, gentlemen.”

***

TECHNICALLY WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 9

Missy knocked on John’s bedroom door and cracked it open. “Sorry to wake you, but you asked me to tell you if she won. Yeah. President Harriet Tubman, Vice President Ulysses S. Grant. There’s reasons to suspect Eleanor Roosevelt will be Secretary of State and Sojourner Truth Secretary of the Interior.”

John got out of bed, lurched over to Missy, put his arms around her, and solemnly said, “Squee.”

***

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 11: VETERAN’S DAY

Ned sighed. “I convinced him not to press charges. How’s your nose?”

“It stopped bleeding ten minutes ago. Can we go home? As in, your place? I don't want Missy to see me until the swelling goes down."

“It’s super sweet that you support my occasional cross-dressing, it really is. But I’m not going to wear dresses with you in public if your response to someone giving me crap for it is to carefully goad him into throwing the first punch, then commence with a very efficient beat-down. Much as you shouting, ‘I didn’t survive getting bombed in Afghanistan to have people police my boyfriend’s clothing choices!’ was endearing in its own way.”

John obediently followed Ned away from the club. “It was supposed to be a safe space.”

“I know. And I’m just a cis guy who likes wearing dresses sometimes, so the mind recoils at when it’s more serious. But that doesn’t mean you get to risk that lovely nose of yours, ok?”

“Maybe you should stop taking me places on soldier-related days. I bet Hercules and Elsie would be happy for you to wear this plus opaque tights, the blazer, and your sensible pumps at the wedding reception.”

“Maybe I’ll skip straight to the part where I ask you to try to get all this off me as fast as you can without actually damaging anything, because I find you attempting to maul someone with your bare hands much more attractive than I should.”

***

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 23: THE DAY BEFORE THANKSGIVING

“Thanks for rolling with the little change of plan,” Alexander said, curling up in a ball on top of John’s bed. He’d taken off his shoes and jacket and just made a beeline for it. “Eliza kind of - she was going to tell me in person, but she’s not going to see me in person until there are a lot of people around tomorrow at the Washingtons’ house, so she decided to let me get my freaking out at least partially done before we have to face that. She said you could be my confidante. So I decided to spend tonight here with you, because you’re the only person I know who’s been in an at all similar situation, though not exactly, because…”

“She’s pregnant, isn’t she.”

Alexander buried his face in his hands. “Yeah. A month or so. I say ‘or so’ given the variable timeline of human conception versus the actual, you know, precipitating moment of thing goes into thing. We know when that moment was. 27 days ago, just shy of a February. We actually know WHY.”

“Oh?” John sat on the edge of the bed with his hand lightly resting on Alexander’s ribcage.

“If you have a long-distance boyfriend and don’t have sex with him that often, taking hormonal birth control all the time might be excessive hassle and expense, right? She lives with Peggy, right? Peggy has a girlfriend, right? Conscientious and educated vagina-havers having sex with vagina-havers know it's a safer idea to put a condom on any object that’s gonna go inside, even if they’re not human penises, right? But since THEY’RE not trying to avoid pregnancy, they might not be as conscientious about, oh, expiration dates, right? And sometimes when your long-distance boyfriend is over and everyone’s excited, you might not carefully check which box you got a condom from, right? And because discussing condoms with your sister is awkward, you might not notice the discrepancy until you miss your period, right? Right.”

John let him quietly wail into a pillow for a bit before asking, “What does she want to do?”

“She wants to have the baby. I asked her if she wants me to marry her, since my mom got so much shit for not being married to my dad and I would never let that happen to my Eliza. She said that was really honorable of me…”

“I remember kind of hating that word, by the end. Not to make this about me.”

“Not at all. One of the reasons I’m talking to you about this is your ability to relate. Martian made a different call, and you supported her a different way, but it came from the same root. I imagine also from the same horrible panic.”

“Yes.” 

“Anyway, she politely turned me down. Not that she thinks she’ll necessarily never want to marry me - which was really nice to hear, by the way - but she doesn’t want this to be the reason we did it. She just wants me to be involved in her health and in the kid’s life. Which scares the fuck out of me, but I’ll do it. I might not be perfect excited planned dad-to-be like Lafayette, but I’m not my father.”

“You’re really not.”

“She hasn’t told anyone but Peggy and Angelica. Peggy kind of had to know, since it’s kind of her fault, like not as much as my fault, but, you know. And Angelica is Eliza’s bedrock, her chief ally in the drama and battle that is life. Angelica made it clear that she’s not mad at me, but she will be very, very mad if I bail. Though she doesn’t think I will bail. That’s nice to hear, too. We’re not going to announce it at Thanksgiving because that’s too dramatic. Eliza would like to get through the first trimester privately anyway, as the women in her family have a history of miscarriages. Shit, now I gotta worry about that too. She says since she told two people, it’s fair for me to tell two people, so I might talk about it with Lafayette. Since he’s experienced with supporting a pregnant partner.”

“Sounds good.”

“Can you put on a funny podcast or something and let me lie here for a bit?”

“Sure. Can I sit next to you?”

“Please.” Alexander lifted his head. "Maybe if I suggest naming the kid after her dad, he will be less scary about it. Philip is a nice name. Or Philippa. If it turns out we made the wrong designation, it's an easy switch."

"You know, that's what Martian said about her daughter Frances versus Francis. It'll work out. You've never backed down, you just need to learn to take your time." John leaned down and kissed Alexander's cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This messes with the real Philip Hamilton's birthdate, but it fit within the story arc, plus I love the meta dual casting joke of Philip being a product of Alexander being in town for John's birthday. I'm not sorry. :D
> 
> P.S. The project Lewis, Otter, and John embark on is inspired by how I myself got to a polling station in the election of 2012. A man and his tween granddaughter were shuttling college students who lacked cars. For free, with no agenda other than encouraging votes. The granddaughter was presumably there to learn about the importance of voting, and also for this to not come off as a creepy situation of an old guy urging college students into his van. 
> 
> P.P.S. Poor Eliza Schuyler Hamilton suffered multiple miscarriages. She was pregnant when Philip died, and many people feared she'd lose that one, but she didn't. Hence their youngest son, Little Philip.
> 
> Okay, one more thing: I namedropped Grant because I'm trying to represent everyone on U.S. money, not counting the obscure presidential $1 coins because that's just too much. Grant's on the $50, for the non-Americans among you. Unless I've already namedropped Grant. I just need that one Hawaiian king on the Hawaiian state quarter, now, I believe. Oh, and Susan B. Anthony for her silver dollar. Unless I already have? Helen Keller's on the Alabama quarter, and she's in the Bly musical. The astronaut on the Ohio quarter doesn't count, because way too many astronauts are from Ohio, like they're all trying to get as far away from Ohio as they can?


	19. Ganksthiving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Food and found family, what could be more perfect?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for recent reviews. I <3 you 5ever. I have read them over and over. I just haven't replied yet because I have limited writing time and spoons, and I wanted to focus on getting this plotbunny sated.
> 
> Warnings for:
> 
> \- a brief incident of non-injurious but deliberate self-harm  
> \- mention of stigma against mental illness

John knew Martha Washington had unexpectedly been granted a granddaughter a few months sooner than expected - the adoption process was finally being fickle in the correct direction - and had flown out to be with that branch of her family. However, George Washington was very serious about upholding his duties as a host. Missy said he’d been asking around at work to see if there were any “holiday orphans” who’d like to join in, much as he’d allowed Missy to last Christmas.

He hadn’t expected for Aaron Burr to open the door, but he said hi in an appropriately cheery tone. Alexander said, “Oh, hey,” and Missy said softly, “Is Theodosia here?”

“She’s on the couch with Theo,” Aaron said, subdued for a second. Then he put his smile back on. “I brought a couple of stragglers, too.”

John wasn’t sure what was getting Aaron down, but he needed to drop off his three-bean salad to the kitchen first. Then a blur rushed past him. 

“Louisa, you nearly knocked him over,” Aaron said.

The blur resolved into a small girl. She clung to his leg. “Perry’s It.”

“You still need to be careful.”

“Sorry, Daddy.”

John raised an eyebrow, and Aaron opened his mouth, but Lafayette struck, and when Lafayette was saying hi to you, you didn’t have time or energy for anything else until he was done. Lafayette managed to look incredibly dashing with his sleeves rolled up and while wearing an apron that said THE SPICE MUST FLOW. “Aaron, please take John’s dish so that he can hug me.”

“I’ll take it!” Louisa (Burr???) declared. 

“I’ll keep you company,” Aaron said diplomatically, making sure she had a good grip on it before they set off. 

“Oh my friend, it’s good to see you, and I know you have brought Alexander along, correct? He’s in the kitchen with Adri and Eliza. Before you say anything about gendered division of labor, I am also in the kitchen except for when greeting arrivals, and it’s possible Alexander will not be permitted to leave until he’s done his part. You and your sister brought food and are therefore exempt. Theodosia is watching American football with George, who is also helping young Theo climb things safely. I’m not sure what your sister is doing. We saw Pierre recently, even Chev when they were kind enough to drop Pierre off for us. They’ve recovered well, though I fear Chev’s wrist may scar.”

“You’re talking so much faster than you could in English when I first met you,” John said, breathless. He was being hugged very tightly. That was fine. More than fine. 

“You’ll have our undivided attention tomorrow. I promised to cut bread into cubes.” He kissed John on both cheeks, not minding that John wasn’t up to doing it back, and twirled away. 

John wasn’t sure whether to go to the kitchen or the living room next, but he decided he should greet and thank their host first. Doctor Wash, as John had ended up calling him as compromise between professional and familiar, was indeed supervising a toddler clambering around the furniture. He looked up. “Hello, John. Welcome.”

“Thank you for inviting us, again. Congratulations on the grandchild, if you’re, um, counting that child as a grandchild.” Adopted step-grandchild, technically, but Lafayette clearly considered Doctor Wash more his father than anyone else ever had been, so literal kinship probably didn’t mean much. 

“Thank you. I’m happy to, except for the part where it makes me feel old.” He picked Theo up and put her on his shoulders.

“Yay! Tall!” she shouted. 

“Yes, he’s tall,” Theodosia said. John looked at her properly for the first time, and his chest twinged. She was lying on the couch, a pillow under her head and another in her arms, very much thinner than when he’d last seen her in June. She was wearing a bandana over a bald head.

He wasn’t sure how to start talking about that, but he took a seat near her. It was a huge multi-section, slightly horseshoe couch, so that was easy. “Do you need anything?”

“If you’ve got a stomach in good condition lying around, that’d be cool.” She laughed.

“Don’t joke about that,” Aaron implored, entering the room slowly. He now had a small child attached to each of his legs. One was a boy Louisa’s age, presumably Perry.

“I’ll joke about whatever I please, honey. Louisa, Perry, this is John. Let go of your father.”

“Hi, John,” the children chorused dutifully. They let Aaron go. 

Perry waved for good measure. “My first name is John, too, but a lot of boys are named John, and my middle name is Pierre but I don’t like that, so I’m Perry. Hi.”

“Hi,” John said back, still wanting an explanation and still not wanting to ask for it.

“Mom has to work this weekend, and we said we really wanted to see Dad if she can’t spend it with us. We don’t see him much because he was Mom’s boyfriend a long time ago and she doesn’t like to talk to her boyfriends after they stop being her boyfriends,” Louisa explained in a measured, careful tone, as if she’d crafted the speech herself and practiced it in front of a mirror. 

“Do you like trains?” Perry asked.

“Or do you like animals?” Louisa challenged, giving her brother the side-eye.

“I like trains okay, but I especially like animals,” John said. He pulled the collar of his long-sleeved tee far enough aside so that they could see his softshell turtle.

“COOOOOOOOL!” Louisa said. Perry looked up at his father. 

“Not until you’re 18,” Aaron said, patting his son on the shoulder. 

***

“My prognosis is pretty good. Aaron just worries, you know. He helped me shave my head after the first clump fell out because I didn’t want to look patchy.” 

Theodosia waited until Aaron had escorted their toddler off for a diaper change before saying this. The Emmons children - John learned that was their mother’s last name - had run check out the fish pond. They’d made a slightly worrying comment about turning Perry’s train set “into a subway”, but nobody but John seemed concerned, and he was the only one who wasn’t a parent. 

Doctor Wash said quietly, “No need to be anxious about the kids. Ground’s too hard and they don’t have a shovel.” 

“Pla’ing.” Theo was now patting her mother’s shins in an erratic but reasonably gentle way.

The last time John had babysat was when his brother almost died on his watch, so he acknowledged that he might have a skewed sense of peril. Instead of mentioning that, he said, “My boyfriend’s doing medical research on stomach cancer.” He cringed inside at how weak that sounded to him once it came out of his mouth. 

“I bet it’s not the kind I have, because it never is, but that’s pretty neat. If you’re itching to see the other people here, go ahead. Also I really am enjoying the game.” She squeezed his hand.

“Ganksthiving!” Theo declared. 

***

It was chaotic but very cheerful and chatty in the kitchen. Missy, who was not so much for the cooking, was washing dishes and implements as they became available. Lafayette was chopping and slicing things. Alexander was mixing things. Eliza was dealing with the various stove things. 

Adrienne paused her dough kneading - oh wow, she was making rolls from scratch - to come over and kiss John on one cheek. “I apologize for my lack of grace and my floury hands.”

“No need to apologize.” John kissed her on the cheek, too. He seemed to be able to do two cumulative kisses per platonic greeting, but he’d seriously improved in hug tightness and duration. “You’re getting very...prominent.”

“If it were up to me I would have sent her back to France earlier! What if the pressures of the plane ride makes you burst, my darling?” Then Lafayette flinched. “In my passionate exclamation, I appear to have cut myself.”

“I have band-aids and plastic gloves,” Eliza said. 

“I actually want to talk to you, at some point,” Alexander said. “I think this gravy’s about where it should be.”

“I’ll take over for you, Lafayette,” John said. 

***

John needed some air at one point, so he decided to stroll around the substantial gardens a bit to clear his head.

He found Aaron sitting by the fish pond, doing something odd with his hands. He realized Aaron was digging his fingernails into his forearms, pressing hard for several seconds, then repeating it again on a different section. Little raised crescents had appeared in some places. Aaron’s eyes were squeezed shut.

“Hey,” John murmured. 

Aaron opened his eyes but didn’t turn his head. “Hello, John Laurens. Don’t make a scene. I’m very tired.”

“I imagine you are. May I join you on the bench?”

“If you want.”

John sat. He watched the fish, who were sluggish with the chill but still moving around. “Imagine our positions reversed.”

“Hah.”

“You said you had Borderline Personality Disorder when you were testifying against Howe. I looked it up later.”

“And yet you’re still talking to me.” He buried his face in his hands, which was an improvement. The implications of what he’d said made John ache inside, though. 

“Louisa says she and her brother don’t see you often.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you feel like you should be happier to be reunited?”

“How’d you know?”

“The last time my sister was in this house was the first time I knew she was my sister. She’d changed so much. I turned around and she wasn’t a kid anymore.”

“The amorous adventures of Aaron Burr are a pretty sordid story. I was a good lay and a terrible love to all of them. Except Theodo-except The-except…” He didn’t cry, but he kept his face and his hands and his shoulders and breath shuddered. All John could do was sit there. Witness. Validate.

“Whatever love you might not have been good at giving or providing in the past, it’s obvious you’ve got huge amounts for those four,” John said when Aaron showed his face again. 

Aaron pulled his sleeves down. “I’m glad it shows. So I know they know.”

“They definitely know.”

“I don’t talk about Louise and Perry much, because it hurts. Mary agreed to keep our drama away from them, and I thank her for that. She says they appear ‘normal, thank God’.”

“That’s not fair,” John said. He wanted to use other adjectives, too, but this wasn’t about his reactions.

“I’ve done some not-nice things.”

“Maybe, but if none of them were to your children…”

“I told Theodosia’s oncologist that I’d kill him if he killed her. I didn’t mean it like that, except maybe I did, a little, but only for a second. I don’t mean it. Now I’ve been politely discouraged from interacting with him. Theodosia’s best friend takes her to appointments.”

There was a long pause. John said, “I beat up a guy on Veterans Day for being a bigoted douchecanoe towards my boyfriend.”

Wiping his eyes and sitting up straight, Aaron said, “Do tell. If you want.”

John did, playing up the humorous aspects. 

Then Perry appeared and tugged on Aaron’s sleeve. “Dad, Dad, Mr. Lafayette said he left foam swords in the basement years ago and he’ll ‘spar’ with me but you have to give permission and also watch, can I? Can I? Pleeeeeeeease?”

“Let me get a look at those foam swords first, big guy,” Aaron said. He allowed himself to be led indoors. 

John watched the fish a little more. He imagined the splash it must have made when Alexander chucked a copy of one of the DSM editions in it so many years ago. He thought about Aaron and Mary Emmons, and Alexander and Eliza, and how he might have felt about Frances if she’d been his and not Jane’s, if Martian had made another choice.

“JOHN THERE ARE MINI QUICHES FOR APPETIZERS AND SOME ARE VEGGIE!” Alexander hollered from an open window.

That was as good a summons as any. 

***

It was a really good meal. There was enough for John to eat that he didn’t mind skipping the turkey at all. He’d never been a fan of turkey meat anyway. 

Alexander was quiet, for him, and he glanced at Eliza more than he seemed to realize. John and Lafayette kept checking on Alexander. Eliza ate with apparent serenity and the occasional soothing smile at her boyfriend. She and Adrienne chatted extensively about Adrienne’s plans upon her return to France, and Eliza deftly wove in questions about Adrienne’s experience with pregnancy so that John almost didn’t notice. Eliza of course had Angelica as a first-hand resource, too, but John supposed it made sense for her to have as much of a sample size as possible. 

Perry told them, at length, about the school newspaper he was writing for. Louisa tried to teach Theo the names of the foods they were eating, and gave a very rambling account of her family of dolls, the Garies. Aaron crumbled a little behind his eyes at the very slow progress Theodosia was making through a bowl of mostly broth and a single roll. However, he beamed and laughed and talked to his children like they were proof of an ultimately merciful universe. Theodosia herself told some funny courtroom stories, and he smiled at those too, real smiles.

Missy had taken upon herself the role of helping little Theo eat rather than just play with her food. She was very patient. When this was remarked on, she said, “Once you’ve dealt with George King smearing peanut butter all over the Soft Room, this is easy.”

Doctor George Washington presided over them with taciturn warmth, asking the occasional question or making the odd comment to steer the conversation, but otherwise letting it flow. When most of them were at the exhausted stage of picking at seconds they somewhat wished they hadn’t gone for, he said, “A toast to Gilbert and Adrienne for being here with us, after a decade of Thanksgivings in his case, and almost as many in hers. One last time, relax, have a drink with me.”

“One last time,” many of them said, but John had a lump in his throat.

“What are you doing?” Alexander hissed when Adrienne filled and lifted a wineglass of her own.

“Medically, it's perfectly fine for me to have maximum one small glass per day, and to my parents' occasional despair I I became quite the secular Frenchwoman,” Adrienne said. She stuck her tongue out at him, then gently clinked her glass against his (which was full of sparkling cider). 

John didn’t have alcohol either - it wasn’t dangerous for him to have a little at a time, but the medications made him much more of a lightweight than he’d once been, and he wanted to be clear for this. He wanted this to be one of those moments that always shone bright in his mind, no matter what might be wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who haven't read Aaron's chapter of Last-Second Stories, or need a refresher:
> 
> Historical Burr had two children by his (free and paid) servant Mary Emmons: John Pierre Burr and Louise Charlotte Burr. He acknowledged them, gave them his last name, and made sure they were well-educated. They grew up to be prominent members of Philadelphia's middle-class African-American community. John Pierre Burr's achievements included working for an abolitionist newspaper and the Underground Railroad (which these children are taking literally). Louise Charlotte Burr's son, Francis Webb, wrote the second ever novel by an African-American author to be published: The Garies and Their Friends. 
> 
> The real ones were not twins, as I have implied here. That was to make both of them exist but also fit within the backstory I've given my Aaron.
> 
> Also in case you haven't read that chapter: Theodosia's going to survive.


	20. L'espirit d'escalier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few, but not all of the, goodbyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm unhappy because of issues regarding my latest book contract. One of the reasons I've been working on this so much rather than my original stuff is because my original stuff reminds me of that and makes me feel worse.
> 
> So, uh, think of me fondly, or something.

When John approached Alexander for a goodbye hug, Alexander was in the midst of discussing with Aaron how the latter managed to finish his studies so fast. John knew Alexander had a new reason to wrap up his time in New York and be by Eliza's side.

"Have a good time with Lafayette and Adrienne on Saturday," Alexander told him. "Thanks for giving me dibs on Lafayette first, which sounds kinda sordid now that I've said that."

Adrienne was John’s friend, but to Alexander she was a (warmly regarded) extension of his relationship with Lafayette. Alexander also had to spend Sunday traveling and had reserved Saturday for Eliza, who had agreed to work tomorrow because Adolescent Ward needed her. Adrienne was going to temporarily break off from Lafayette to spend the night and all Friday with a close friend of hers who lived nearby, which would also give “the boys” privacy. She and her husband would regroup at John’s place for most of Saturday, then head back to Charlottesville for Adrienne to have a day of rest. Who knew being loved required so much scheduling?

John smiled, bittersweetness implicit and shared. "Lafayette was your friend before he was mine. It's only fair. See you at Christmas. My regards to Thom."

"Take care of Ned for me. I’m very efficient, you know, making my favorite DC dudes mind each other while I’m gone."

When saying goodbye, Aaron didn't hug John, but his handshake lingered. "Thanks. Seriously."

"You were there for me before, many times," John replied. "I think you’re the best dad I’ve seen in action.”

“Tomorrow there’ll be more of us,” Aaron said, indicating Lafayette, who happened to be curled up in the same armchair as Alexander. John held in a laugh.

Then John went to thank Doctor Wash, who was reading Theo a story. “Do you plan to return her?” he asked.

“I’m sure I can think of a suitable ransom. Wouldn’t you be afraid of pale green pants with nobody inside them, John?”

“I think they’d be just as afraid of me,” John said.

“Spoiler! It’s one of Dr. Seuss’ best twist endings, second only to the Sneetches,” Missy scolded, arms laden with tupperware full of leftovers. “Also, um, help me, big brother?”

“I like Sneetches,” Theo said.

“She said a full sentence!” Aaron announced much more loudly than he thought he did.

“I’m saying full sentences, Daaaaaad,” Perry said, poking his father’s chest. “Don’t forget about me.”

“I could never forget about you, or you.” Aaron gathered Perry and Louisa close and held them until they got bored and squirmed away. John had learned that they lived in Philadelphia and were going home on Sunday, and that Aaron probably wouldn’t see them in person until their summer vacation. 

Louisa patted Aaron’s forearm. “Love you, but we got stuff to do.”

“It’s been a pleasure having you here again, and to see you doing so well,” Doctor Wash said, hands busy with the book. “Happy Thanksgiving, son.”

Eliza had given Theodosia a ride home after Theodosia threw up. _“I’m the only nurse present. Let me help. The kids are having a lot of fun playing in such a big house with a big garden, Aaron, let them stay a bit longer. I’ll make sure she hydrates and eats something she can keep down._ Theodosia described it as leaving “fashionably early” and demanded someone bring her the wishbone from the turkey after it was picked clean.

“What is the significance of the wishbone?” Adrienne asked John as he was saying goodbye to her. 

“One person holds one half, the other person holds the other half, and they pull. Whoever ends up with the bigger bone fragment gets to make a wish, and it will come true if they never tell anyone what they wished for. That’s how it was in my family, anyway.”

“Did you ever wish for anything? Did you receive it?”

John looked around the room, and thought back to a particular wish he'd made. _I want my family to be happier._ “Not how I expected.”

***

Missy spent Friday with Ramzi, who had been organizing regular bowling nights with much of the Vernon staff for months now, and liked Missy's new idea of some kind of charity tournament to help the Burrs with the costs of something small but concrete, like delivery meals or Theodosia's transport to and from treatment. They were going to talk to Eliza as leader of the very successful Nurse Sharks team (and the most trusting and kind human in existence), Maria because the Techs Mix had a very strong rivalry with the Nurse Sharks and also she could probably blackmail other people, Angelica because Angelica...

John was proud of Missy, who didn't like bowling, and left her to it. He didn’t push her on meeting Ramzi. They were only just now officially dating. He also knew Missy felt total equals with John Laurens, but still didn’t want _her big brother Jack’s_ disapproval.

Ned was out of town to be with extended family. John honored Buy Nothing Day, since Black Friday made him uncomfortable on a number of levels. He went running, did a reasonable amount of pushups and crunches, did laundry, read a book, did some more research on how to manage Martian and Jane’s trip here (definitely happening!) and emailed Martian results, and he was very fine. 

***

Adrienne arrived almost an hour before schedule. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

She handed him a potted rosemary plant that looked vaguely like a Christmas tree. “Early, but it smells pleasant and you can cook with it, too. Rosemary is for remembering. Did you know that parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme, all together, are very good seasonings for both chicken and rice?”

“Scarborough Fair Rice would be a neat name for that. Come in.”

She sat heavily in their most comfortable chair and did most of her talking in French, though John mostly spoke in English. It suited them both. “Two more months! I will be happy to be relieved of this weight. Little Georges or Henriette in external, detachable form will be convenient in that respect, even if the feeding and cleaning and so on will no longer be automatic. Also I miss my usual clothes.”

“Do your feet hurt?” 

“Some of the time.” She shrugged. “Gilbert is good at rubbing them, and Pierre is not naturally good but he takes instruction well. Visit him as soon as you can, John, he was very upset about saying goodbye to me, even though Gilbert is going to give another round of farewells to his dearest friends this coming fortnight. Pierre will of course visit us, though we’ll have to keep the nature of our relationship quiet. My family knows I draw much of my character from Ba’hai mysticism and values but am very fast and loose with the rules and their reasoning, but if they knew by how much...”

John sat on the floor. “Laf and Pierre are not here. I can follow instructions.”

“Really?”

“Why not?"

When John got the hang of it, Adrienne resumed talking of other things. “I actually made a list of things I want to say to you. It’s in my purse. Do you know the wit of the staircase?”

“Wait, what?”

She switched languages. “In English, the phrase has been imported. _L’espirit d’escalier_ has the literal meaning of ‘wit of the staircase’, but it means, mm, when you think of something…” she trailed off, searching.

“When you think of something to say too late to say it?”

Adrienne returned to French. “Yes. Especially clever things. As though you left a party, and were descending the staircase to leave and thought of the perfect reply then. I have always hated that. I do remember the top of that list without having to dig for it.”

“Go on.” Her ankles seemed swollen, which he’d heard was normal. He played it gentle there until further notice. 

“I wanted to say that I can imagine a world in which Gilbert came back to me without - ooh, yes, perfect - without me having gone to him. In that world I would have not met you. You would have at most been one of his many stories. Possibly one of his sad ones. Stop for a moment, your hair’s in your face. I should have bought you more hair ties when I had the chance.”

“Gifts of the staircase,” John suggested, holding still as she tucked a strand behind his ear. He really did need more, though. They wore out and got grubby at an alarming rate. Sometimes he thought about just cutting his hair, but he hadn’t been allowed hair this long when he was younger, or in the Army of course. and it was a nice reminder at all times that he could do what he liked now. Plus Ned liked playing with it.

“Yes. That world is not a good world for anyone. I like this one. I am grateful for this one, and that I have met you and known you. We’ll still talk, of course, and you are always welcome in any home of ours, but I realize this is the first chapter where I cannot stay. Get up, John, sit next to me.” 

John did. Adrienne took his hand and squeezed it. He said, “You were there when I needed you most. Not just him, you too. As long as you know that, I’m not too worried about the staircases.”

“It’s good not to fear the staircase,” she agreed, smiling, though her eyes were damp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Dr. Seuss time! So the narrator's terrified of this pair of pale green pants (American definition of word pants) with nobody inside them sort of floating around on dark evenings. Then, after several rhyming pages of encounters with the pants and fleeing in terror, the narrator finds out that the pants are terrified of the narrator, and they sit down and demystify each other.
> 
> \- The Sneetches, meanwhile, is about these birdlike/humanlike beings called the Sneetches, some of whom have stars on their bellies, and they discriminate against the ones who don't. Then a man comes to town with a magic machine that puts a star on your belly. But when all the former non-stars have stars, the man sells the originally-stars a way to REMOVE their stars, so LACK of stars becomes high-status. This goes back and forth until they're all broke and he runs away cackling. Then they all realize how ridiculous they were being, and now some have stars, some don't, whatever. 
> 
> \- The bowling idea is from the photos I've seen of Hamilton cast bowling against the Les Miserables cast. The Hamilton cast bowling shirts were the logo, but A.Ham's holding a bowling ball. 
> 
> \- When A.Ham died, Eliza and the seven remaining children were in serious financial trouble. Congress raised money to help them. I like the idea of an AU Eliza helping to raise money for the Burr family.
> 
> \- I would love to hear any punny team names for the doctors/psychiatrists, the therapists, and the admin/maintenance, because it might not be important to the plot arc but I tried, my goodness I tried to come up with ones I liked as much as Nurse Sharks and Techs Mix. The tournament is unlikely to appear in this fic. I don't understand bowling. I just like having Missy do her own stuff that isn't all about her brother.


	21. Lafayette

Two weeks after John’s final goodbye to Adrienne, and his penultimate goodbye to Lafayette, his dear friend appeared at his door with a satchel and large rolling suitcase.

“Best for last,” Lafayette said. “Is your sister at work?”

“Yeah. We likely won’t see her. She’s pulling an extra-long shift because Aaron Burr’s having a tough week. Come in.”

The facts were these: Ned wasn’t comfortable with John sharing a bed platonically with people other than Alexander (and Missy in emergencies). John didn’t want to lose any time with Lafayette. They were leaving very early. 

“So you suggest we do not sleep?” Lafayette asked upon hearing this train of thought.

“If you want to sleep that’s fine, but I figure…”

“I can sleep on planes; it’s a lucky trait.”

They had dinner and didn’t talk about anything serious. 

_“Partisan politics are against her religion?”_

_“Yes, grandmère could eventually forgive all my fornication if she knew about it, but she has made me promise to not run for any kind of office. Says she knows it would ruin me.”_

Lafayette’s suitcase glowered at them from the corner. They did their best to ignore it. When they no longer had food and cleanup to occupy them, though, John didn’t know what to do.

They drifted couchward. Lafayette perched on one of the arms and cleared his throat. He was in sweatpants and a UVA hoodie that probably cost one-third the price of his cashmere socks (he never skimped on comfortable socks), and he looked tired. He cleared his throat. “Adrienne and I saw and did many worthwhile things in America. Her favorite was visiting Yellowstone Park, where she made all those watercolors of the landscape and geysers we keep on our walls. My favorite was hearing an American tourist near the Statue of Liberty say something disparaging about the French national character, because of the look in his face when I turned around and said sweetly, ‘And who gave that statue to you, as well as fought for your liberty that she represents, hm?’”

“I wish you’d filmed that” John said. He’d heard the story before, from Adrienne, but it would never get old.

“Me too.” Lafayette looked down at the floor. “There is something I have not done here. I haven’t done it for at least twenty years, actually, and I wondered if you might oblige…”

This was how they ended up on a blanket spread on the floor, but this time, _Lafayette_ was the one being held.

“Nobody else in twenty years, really?” John asked. He was partially propped up by pillows. Lafayette was taller than him, but he was all folded-up now, his face pressed against John’s chest. “You’re so touchy-feely.”

“There is a difference between closeness and vulnerability. Even my times playing submissive, it just means I cling to Adrienne rather than cradle her. The closest was taking a nap rolled in the same blanket as George Washington.”

“Alexander told me about walking in on you and his foster dad doing that and being slightly weirded out.” John let his own hair down and cautiously did the same for Lafayette. He put the hair ties together on the coffee table, overlapping them like a diagram.

“I am grateful you and Alexander have one another now, so I can worry less.”

“You did a lot for my social life,” John joked.

Lafayette frowned. “I may have saved your life, but I did not rebuild it and repopulate it, John. That was all you.”

John wasn’t sure what to say to that.

After a while, Lafayette said very, very quietly, “I’m learning how to say goodbye. I never had to do it before, not really. My father died when I was too young to remember much, and my mother has never been around enough for there to be the appropriate depth of feeling for it to truly sting. Every goodbye I’ve said has been with the knowledge of when I’d see them next. ‘See you on the other side.’ ‘Till we meet again.’ Not as expression of hope, but fact. You and I didn’t say goodbye last year, like I thought we might. The one now is less painful, and yet I do not like it.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m doing what I need to do, but I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“Mm.”

They put on some Buster Keaton silent films, since they could talk quietly while still being amused by the acrobatic physical comedy. At one point they got up and brewed up some hot chocolate using the very fancy mix Lafayette had brought as a host gift. There was inevitable silliness mixed in their conversation.

John held Lafayette, and thought about where they were and where they’d started.

Time slipped by quickly, as it does when you don’t want it to. Lafayette took a quick shower when they were getting close to time to leave, and dressed comfortably but less sloppily. "Parisians are very judgmental about public dress, and I will have to deal with them for a few hours before properly going home." Lafayette had come in a rental car, and after sending him off John was going to return the car for him and come home by public transport. Lewis insisted that he wasn’t giving John time off, it was simply that Lewis needed to get a potentially dangerous mole removed and he happened to absolutely have to do the procedure on that very day. Honest.

They were almost silent on the drive there. “I’m sorry I shot myself so close to your birthday before last,” John said as they were about to get out of the car.

“It was rather inconsiderate of you,” Lafayette said with mock-seriousness.

“It occurred to me that I hadn’t apologized for that specific aspect.” John closed the car door behind him with more force than necessary.

Lafayette popped open the trunk. “It never occurred to me to be an aspect for you to apologize for. Remember, you promised to…”

“Invite you to all my birthday celebrations for the rest of my life, I know.” He’d kept his word a few weeks ago, but Lafayette genuinely couldn’t make it. It was keeping the promise that mattered.

“And to have many of them.”

Lafayette habitually rode business rather than first, because according to him the difference was small and he could put the difference into his “extravagant gestures” spending category instead. Adrienne was now forcing him to make budgets - not skimpy budgets, but to just have some clue about what he was doing with his money. He’d requested Adrienne fly first class this time, though, and she hadn’t argued.

Soon they got to the point where Lafayette had to leave John behind. 

Lafayette stopped and faced him. “Pride is not the word I am looking for. That suggests too much credit on my part. Awe. Gratitude. Joy. Those are such words.”

“America will never be the same,” John said, giving his best smile.

Putting a hand on each of John’s shoulders - wounded and decorated both - Lafayette carefully leaned in and kissed him. Not on the lips. Not on the cheek. He kissed him at a precise halfway point, right on one corner of his mouth. He gave _his_ best smile, which outshone all but supernovae. Then he started walking away.

“Wait!” 

“Oui, mon ami?”

John stuck out his hand. His left hand. “Good match.”

Lafayette stared. Then he got it. He held out his own left hand and shook it, miming the grip of a sword in his right. Fencer handshake. First way they ever touched. “Good match. Very...yes, a very good match.”


	22. My Nightmares Lately

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two nightmares and two realities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for disturbing dream imagery and a mention of accidental self-harm.
> 
> There are references to "Three Days Already". They are designed to be non-spoilery but also make sense. I hope it works.

“It is very cold,” Pierre says, entering the tent. He’s not wearing any pants, but neither is John, so it doesn’t seem odd in and of itself. John’s not sure why the rest of their outfits match.

“Isn’t it always?”

“I got a letter from d'Eon. D'Eon won’t be joining us because the king’s forcing them to present as female for, like, ever. King Louis also turned down d'Eon's proposal to put together an army of woman warriors.”

“Asshole.”

“I can’t find Lafayette, either.” Pierre’s hands are made of feathers, and he pauses to preen them with his teeth and raw, chapped lips.

“What do you need him for? Also, why have you been limping?”

Pierre shrugs. “When American’s favorite passionate Prussian’s stressed, I do my bit. Nobody notices, since plenty of others are limping too, one reason or another. At least you and I have shoes. I’m looking for Lafayette because it’s the lottery. All the sick ones are gone. Pull your ticket out your ear; I know Hamilton put it there.”

John does, and it has a big black spot on it. Pierre clicks his tongue and puts a pistol in John’s hand. John follows, not knowing why he’s frightened.

“We’ve resorted to eating our horses!” Alexander is shouting through a bullhorn. He’s on a very tall tower, waving at John’s father and the man John remembers as Nurse John Hancock. 

The horses are all lined up. John sights his. His hands shake, but he’s known for his good aim. 

“Do not throw away your shot,” Alexander warns.

Then John fires, and _wait it’s not a horse, it’s not._

(“Marquis!” Pierre shrieks, from somewhere far away, yet also next to his ear.)

_oh god, oh god, it’s not a horse, oh fuck shit hell_

***

“John, you’re twitching and whimpering. We’re almost there.”

“There” being Potomac Mills Mall, both larger and cheaper than any of the ones closer to where John lived. Chev had unspecified business in DC early that morning, so they’d picked John up on their way south again and they’d both meet up with Pierre at the mall. Friedrich had gotten Pierre, Benjamin Walker, and William North to all agree to go watch a movie together as a kind of metamour team-building outing. Chev was going to drop John off at the nearest Metro station before going back to Fredricksburg with Pierre.

John planned to do most of his Christmas shopping online, but he wanted to get Ned a soft comfy sweater and he needed to touch it for quality assurance first. Besides, he’d promised Adrienne he’d check on Pierre, and he himself had been curious about how Chev was doing.

“Sorry, nightmare,” John said.

Chev nodded. “Join the club. Remember how your sister’s boyfriend said my wrist would heal in a month-ish if I took care of it properly?”

“Yes.” John had been wondering why it was still bandaged, albeit with five of those stretchy loom band bracelets as a distracting burst of color over it.

“I chewed on it in my sleep. It set me back. I’ve started sleeping with an elbow-length glove on.” Chev stopped at a red light and their voice went soft. “Pierre made me all these wristbands to make it less stark. They’re soft and flexible, you know? Not like...”

 _Not like being chained to a radiator for multiple days and handling it with breathtaking badassery._ John thought about the colors. “Okay, rainbow is general Pride. Yellow-white-purple-black…?”

“Nonbinary. Yellow-purple is Intersex. Plenty of intersex people have binary genders. They’re distinct. Blue-gray-white is our college colors. He was going to make a more specific sexuality one, but I told him I’m not a hundred percent clear on my sexual orientation. Spent most of my energy figuring out the gender stuff. You know the last one.”

“I do?”

“Think about it. You have about five minutes until we get to the parking lot.”

John considered. Rather than gray, like in the school spirit bracelet, half the bands were a more metallic color. The rest were emerald green. “I still don’t get it.”

“Consider how nerdy he is.”

“What...Slytherin?”

Chev smirked. “I like to think I’d be the muckiest, muddiest, most disconcerting Slytherin ever, and the castle would materialize a whole new gender-and-House-neutral dorm for me and anyone else who needed it.”

[John could imagine Alexander embarking on a war to end the House system at Hogwarts, largely by writing reams and reams of parchment on the subject.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5970816)

Pierre greeted John with a hug, then he turned around and hissed, “Say what you like about my priorities, but I’m still going to have a much better Wikipedia page than you one day, North.” He was currently ticcing by flexing all his fingers as though warming up to play a bit of vigorous piano. 

“Whatever. I’m sure the word count will get a lot of help from describing how you were killed by a strong breeze,” replied a guy about Pierre’s age, but about three times more muscular, with a military-regulation haircut. 

Friedrich paused in conversation with yet another young man. He looked at both of them. “You definitely grabbed each other’s hands every single time a monster jumped out.”

The third one gave them a dazzling smile. Seriously, he was Grecian-marble, Platonic-ideal, golden-ratio hot. “Hi, my name’s Benjamin. You must be Chev and John. Excuse our feral Will.” 

“Nice to meet you. It boggles my mind that Pierre’s romantic relationship with me is the less complicated one.” Chev snapped their fingers. “Oi! Gimme!”

Friedrich laughed. He tipped Pierre’s face up for a last kiss. “Your datefriend’s far scarier than I am. Be good for them.”

“Mmhm.”

Will flipped Pierre off. Pierre waved cheerfully.

“Wow, that guy really seems to have it in for you,” John said as they headed towards the food court. 

“We get on each other’s nerves, and I’m still a little hurt that Friedrich slept with him without mentioning it to me even though he KNEW we knew each other, but the main thing is that he’s hoping to be punished. He’s the one who isn’t a romantic partner. Will’s in it for being yelled at just right, if you really get down to it, and I allow that I like for Friedrich to have someone who enjoys being yelled at to yell at. Once I figured that out it didn’t bother me anymore.” Pierre took Chev’s hand. John noticed that Pierre had five loom band bracelets on his left wrist: rainbow, Pansexual, school colors, French flag, and Ravenclaw one that used the colors of both the book and film versions.

“Does Friedrich reward bratty behavior like that with the attention Will wants, though? Because I certainly wouldn’t. Ooh, I want sushi. Then I want frozen yogurt, and I want to hunt for sturdy walking shoes that are nonetheless ridiculously tall, and I want to fob you off on John for a bit as I hunt something down for you.”

“I like your plan. Friedrich doesn’t reward the behavior. I’m conspiring with him to play along until Will figures out that nothing’s going to happen and he’s wasting his time.” 

“Such a clever boy.” Chev kissed Pierre and led the way to a table among the crowd. 

John hadn’t had frozen yogurt for ages, and he wondered what had possessed him to wait so long. Pierre hid behind one of the others whenever a salesperson at a kiosk started coming towards them. Chev was at the receiving end of a bigoted remark in one clothing store, and so thoroughly cowed the employee with their response that John ended up getting a very nice, very obscure - but legitimate - deal on a buttery-soft cardigan for Ned.

During their time apart from Chev, Pierre ended up enlisting John in helping him locate A cup bras that didn’t look like they was made for twelve-year-olds. Chev had mentioned that they got a reduction a few years ago, to avoid back problems - their condition gave them so much estrogen that all secondary feminine characteristics were exaggerated - and so they could present in a more visually ambiguous space. This was very privileged information. John was honored by that trust.

“I need to stop worrying about Chev when I can’t see them,” Pierre confided, deciding between two different arrangements of lace. “It’s worse now that Lafayette and Adrienne are gone. I feel like I’m greedy and needy.”

“Needing things is a fact without moral value,” John said, idly wondering if Ned would like a negligee at some point, despite the fact that crossdressing wasn’t sexual for him. John wouldn’t buy one without checking. Much more quietly, he added, “I miss Lafayette and Adrienne a lot, myself.”

“Yeah.” Pierre patted John on the back. “We just gotta remember that we can still talk to them, and meanwhile we’re both surrounded by people who love us. Doesn’t invalidate the sadness, but maybe it mitigates it.”

“When did you get so wise?”

“Recently? I’ve always been smart, but I think I’d never been put through enough of a strain for it to evolve. You mentioned Ned likes dressing femme sometimes, right? Would he like anything here? Chev could consult.” 

There were some people staring at them, but John couldn’t be bothered to care. Their opinions were as inconsequential as the tinny Christmas music coming from the speakers.

“I don’t know everything about him yet,” John said. 

***

Ned is standing under a weeping willow next to a pond on top of a hill, watching the fireworks. There's something off about his face and clothes, but John knows it's him, and he goes the stand by him.

"What's the occasion?" John asks.

"Lafayette's returned to America, haven't you heard? Such a shame Alexander..." Ned turns. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure?"

"Huh?"

"You're bleeding. That's not good for you, regardless of circumstances. I don't care what that shit-for-brains Rush says, ugh.'" He peels a strip of bark off the willow tree and hands it to John. "One day they're going to isolate the ingredients and make neat white pills for your pain, but chewing on it does a bit of good in the meantime."

"Thanks." To John, it tastes like beef jerky and chalky candy hearts. His shoulder really is bleeding badly. He sits, tired.

"I had a lot of trouble to get Xander to take his medicine when he was on death's door from yellow fever. He's such a brat sometimes. Eliza was the perfect patient; may she live another fifty years. Stevens, by the way."

"Yes, I know." John brushes a worm off his cravat. And another. There seem to be a number of them.

"What's your name, man?"

Everything goes very cold. "John Laurens."

Stevens - not Ned - goes stern and still. "Hamilton cried for you when delirious. Inconsolably. I was trying to bring his temperature down and he was begging, Laurens, Laurens, he wanted -"

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Alexander Hamilton died years ago. You've been dead for far longer. What do you think you're playing at? I never met you, okay?" And he shoves John back into the grave.

***

"I'm sorry to just show up in the middle of the night, but your snoring is much better than my nightmares lately." It Friday night, just under a week after going shopping with Pierre and Chev. John's nightmares weren't letting up. Like Lafayette being in America had slowed their flow somehow, and the dam had broken. During their last session, Doctor Suriyaren asked him to start keeping a diary of them.

"It's all good. You called ahead." Ned shut his apartment door behind John and gathered him into his arms, tucking his head under his chin. John kissed the base of his neck. 

"I've eaten twenty chicken wings since Lafayette left. That's as many as two tens, and that's terrible." He was careful not to let Missy see him doing any form of eating his feelings. He didn't want to trigger her.

"I hope it wasn't all at once, Johnny."

"No."

"These things happen. Let's get your coat off. It's all frosted."

When feeling fragile, John usually liked being the catcher rather than the pitcher, so to speak. It felt more like being cherished and coddled. The other way around was usually for his confident times. But this time he asked if Ned was interested in sex, first of all, and if so, bottoming. "Interested" turned out to be an understatement.

"Still not pressuring you, but reiterating I'd really like to live together," Ned said afterwards, lying a few inches apart but one of his legs draped across John's, and John's arm draped over his waist. John was lying facedown and Ned sideways, both buried under a mound of fluffy comforter. “You’d wake from a nightmare and I’d be right here.”

"I love you too," John said. It was the best he could do right now. Ned kissed as much of him as he could that didn't require much movement from him, or any from John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- A metamour, in polyamory, is your partner's partner who is not also directly yours. Sexual or romantic. Thus Pierre, Lafayette, and Adrienne are all amours of each other in some way, but Friedrich is Chev's metamour via Pierre, Thom and Eliza are metamours via Alexander, etc.
> 
> \- I now slightly want to write a canon-era fic about the time Dr. Edward Stevens treated Alexander and Eliza Hamilton's yellow fever (via willow bark, wine, and cold baths, NEVER bleeding, what a radical), with the twist that fever-delirious Hamilton cries and pleads for Laurens. In that fic, I'd have them be half-brothers like they were so often suspected of being. But argh, time! And the research that would require!
> 
> \- D'Eon really did propose putting together an all-woman army to go fight the Hapsburgs. D'Eon was also pro-American Revolution, which is interesting for a former Interim Ambassador to England who was reasonably popular there.
> 
> \- The link in the story will take you to my first-ever Hamilton fic "Alexander Hamilton and the Dozen Pamphlets".
> 
> \- There's an interview in which Anthony Ramos speaks of his fondness for chicken wings as an accompaniment to beer.


	23. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> help

John had texted Ned just to let himself in, and that he was almost done getting dressed for their day out. Ned had received permission to start a small flower-and-herb garden on the roof of his building, and he wanted to go look at gardening equipment despite it being December. ("Christmas means everything's for sale, Johnny.")

When he cracked open the door, Missy was hugging/leaning into Ned as they both sat awkwardly on the floor. She was sobbing.

"I've never worked this many hours in, in in my life before, and I'm trying to do this really fucking hard online course and I didn't even order all the materials in time for the test, and, and I'm too young for this shit, Eduardo, I don't know what I'm doing. I'm trying to do right by everyone, but what is that, even? I had to break up a fight on Monday and what even how the why. And I had a headache for four days earlier this week. Continuously. Four days. Not a migraine, thank God, but ahhhhhh. I'm getting stomachaches and food's confusing and do I need more therapy? I probably do, but when am I gonna fit that in? And I'd have to FIND a NEW therapist and that takes more spoons than I've got. I need to open a new bank account. I don't know where or when. Also I've been wanting to write something for days now, just to clear my head a tiny bit, but I don't have time or energy to do even a tenth of what I want to. Why am I doing all this. Why won't anyone let me stop. Why. Help. I can't think."

Ned pulled her close and patted her back gently. "How about you do the homework you absolutely have to, write something very short to scratch the itch, and get some rest? Worry about the other stuff later."

Missy sniffled. "K."

"K?"

"I hope you stay with John forever."

"Oh good. So do I."

John decided his outfit could use a few tweaks, maybe a scarf or something. That he'd need to spend a few minutes choosing and tying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow my logic: I imagine my Alexander as LMM (a combination of his Hamilton persona and his Alvie-from-House). Ned Stevens supposedly looked a lot like Hamilton, but better at diplomacy and patience, and presumably with less astounding eyes (since people so often had to comment on Hamilton's Mary Sue indigo/violet eyes). My head decided this means my Ned looks like Javier Muñoz, though as with all the characters I don't describe him physically unless it's essential to the action. 
> 
> The casting shuffle has not changed this. Feel free to continue with your own mental image. But have you seen that picture of Javi baking brownies shirtless? Or his little rooftop garden at the Rogers theater? I would entrust my version of John Laurens with him.
> 
> Guess who Missy is in this chapter, though not in the rest of the AU. 
> 
> ....I'm pretty sure I'll be ok soon.


	24. One Swell Swoop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your lovely comments and support in the previous chapter. That was a darkest-before-the-dawn kind of moment. Things should be more relaxed for a few days before they go nuts again. 
> 
> Not writing at all makes me feel congested and constricted and unhappy, and posting stuff makes me very happy, but writing my standard chapters takes 1-2 hours. I don't post this often because I feel obligated, but because it's such a rush of dopamine and serotonin. Compromise: another short, not plotty chapter. This originally took about 30 minutes, but I later added about 20 min ish of stuff several hours after original posting.

John paused when he crossed the threshold of Ned's place, though he managed to close the door. "Wait. Not that I'm not happy to see you, Alexander, but I thought you weren't done with your Master's yet."

"I am now," Alexander said. He was draped over a box like he'd been laid flat to dry. There were several boxes.

Ned kissed some of the confusion off John's face, then returned to opening another of the boxes. "Hope you don't mind if Alexander lives with me. My library/office is going back to being a bedroom."

"Why would I? I don't own this place or either of you. Happy to not be so far apart anymore."

"You own his heart and you own my soul," Alexander informed John, like he was telling him about an interesting text post he'd found on tumblr. "I apologize for the reduced amount of square feet in which it will be feasible for you two to be sexy. Or schmoopy. I've got a job interview in DC soon, courtesy of a headhunter, plus a few positions I'm applying to around these parts. I thought I'd use my education and get back to whence I came. Didn't tell you beforehand because I wasn't sure my relocation was gonna work out. Eliza offered to have me move in with her, but Peggy was like, um. And I respect Peggy's um. Besides, it's probably bad for me to go from long-distance with Eliza to cohabitation with Eliza in one swell swoop. An intermediate stage where it's easy for us to see each other but not unavoidable makes me feel better."

"Don't you mean one 'fell' swoop?" Ned extracted a few coats, sweaters, and other winterwear from the box, setting it neatly to the side.

"Nope. Fell means really evilly bad. Shakespeare invented that phrase in a Scottish tragedy. I trust you will not need me to name the play. Macbeth orders a guy's family killed, and the guy is in despair over how he lost his wife and children, who he compares to little birds, all in one fell swoop. Like a hawk got 'em."

"You just said the name of the play."

"My dearest Eduardo, it's fine to say the name of the eponymous CHARACTER, which you will find is what I did. You should know twice as much about theater as me."

"(This is why it's best you haven't hung out with both of us much.)" Ned said, in parentheses. "My dearest Alexander, there is no real correlation between percentage of sexuality being male-for-male and level of interest in theater. Which of us is in a STEM field? Which of us did most of the carrying of boxes in here? Which of us is far less of a throwback to the era of foppish dandies being real words to describe real people, given enough of a clothing budget? Which of us didn't have Lisa Frank pencil cases and notebooks covered in unicorns?"

John hadn't been this amused by anything since Lafayette left last week. He wondered if they were playing up the Vitrolic Best Buds trope just for him. 

Alexander idly waved at the ceiling. "Anyway, I did a few things to accelerate my course so I could join the revolutionary developments in my life."

"If those things included judicious blowjobs, I will be appalled at your morals but impressed with your skill level," Ned said casually. John was glad he wasn't drinking something to do a spit-take with.

Alexander got up, only to sink into the embrace of a puffy jacket. "Not everyone important in the world has a dick. Sheesh. What, wish you were a dean so you could be included in this weird porn concept you've come up with just so you can impugn my academic chops? It surely can't be John's fault."

"It isn't," John said, sitting on the actual couch. He understood the shape of the conversation and not just the tone, now, and was happy to join in that same way.

Ned smiled at John and then poked Alexander. "Fuck you, Alexander Hamilton. Fuck you gently, with tender solicitude."

"What if I don't want tenderness and solicitous gentleness? I'm saving you from going broke on rent, what more do you want from me? What's a guy gotta do to get roughed up?"

John put a hand on Ned's wrist. "Wait, you were having trouble with rent?"

Ned let John draw him to his side. "I had a roommate last year. After she moved out I've learned to manage, but it's eating up a lot of my budget. Don't make faces. I didn't tell you because I didn't wan't -"

"To take the relationship the next level out of a sense of obligation," Alexander cut in. "We're all hearing that a lot from our significant otters, aren't we? Yes, Ned, I said 'otters'. John and I have our in-jokes too. I am not employing the slang for gay males of a certain body type. I don't have a significant one of those."

"As long as it's not another lighthouse letter," Ned said, rising to the in-joke challenge.

"To be clear, John, as you haven't seen Ned and I banter that much, do not take what I said earlier as any indication that I actually pursue or have pursued academic credit via sexual favors. Do take it as an indication that the more tired I am, the fancier my vocabulary gets."

"All clear," John said.

"Are you mad at me?" Ned asked him. John shook his head. He was glad Ned had spared him that dilemma, though it occurred to him that Missy would also struggle with paying for their apartment without John's contributions.

"Thom's resigning himself to being the long-distance one now. Liz sent me text that just said, I HAVE HIM IN MY SOLE CLUTCHES, which is mildly concerning. They've both got State Department aspirations, so they'll have to come down here eventually." Alexander finally got up for real and wedged himself between Ned and John. "Enough of my faraway boyfriend and my expecting beau. I'm with my BFF and my bae. If it means having to fight a war to meet up with both of you again, it will all have been worth it."

"You're lucky you're boyfriend's..." Ned blinked at Alexander's sudden tension. "...Very patient, as is your girlfriend. What's wrong?"

"Sorry, the number of cracks about me being chatty and Thom being Deaf..."

"Ah. I wouldn't say that."

"I know. It made me worry that you might have been replaced with a clone. You haven't hugged me, John, my darling bae John."

John hugged him. "You're very here."

"I know exactly what you mean."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A comment left on the previous chapter reminded me that I have hardly written any direct Alexander-Ned interaction. This is because whenever Alexander has been in town, he's wanted to spend a lot of time one-on-one with people. But now he's here to stay! He can do all sorts of social configurations! Also, I needed to get to this plot point anyway, so this resulted.


	25. Compassion for Luke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I WASN'T EXPECTING THIS
> 
> It happens immediately after the previous chapter. Think of these two chapters what would have been one long one if I'd had the time and patience rather than my intense craving for a steady stream of validation.

Ned got permission to announce Alexander’s move-in via Facebook. John took a picture of the two of them amidst the chaos of partially-opened boxes to use in the post. He then got involved in the unpacking and setup process. 

In the eleven months since Alexander introduced him to Ned, he’d learned about the history between the two in bits and pieces - mostly from Alexander, except for the times Ned had been sitting with a severely depressed John and casting about for a topic that might make him smile a little. 

After Alexander was taken in by the Washingtons, he tested into a magnet high school and placed in the same Gifted and Talented program as Ned. They met at age thirteen. They both had other high school friends, but Ned was the only one Alexander had retained as more than casual social media contact. 

Ned had kept up another high school friendship; he’d dated Hester for a few months until she’d turned 18 and her suspicious parents could no longer legally send her to one of those horrible pray-away-the-gay camps. That was the sort of thing that creates a lasting bond. On her birthday, both came out to the general public with a gleeful flourish (and Hester had everything ready to move in with a sympathetic aunt). He’d come out to Alexander as a crossdresser the first day they’d met, and at fifteen he’d come out to Alexander as I’m-pretty-sure-I’m-gay. 

Ned’s parents had been very nice about it after the initial adjustment. They’d also always been very fond of Alexander. They’d often invited Alexander to come with them to visit Ned’s mother’s relatives in Puerto Rico, but Alexander had always been doing summer enrichment programs or internships. Or so he said. John suspected Alexander might not have wanted to go back and encounter the memories there.

Ned’s mother worked in business and his father was affiliated with social services in some capacity, constantly trying to improve the system. They’d moved to Maryland when Ned was in college. Close enough so that visiting wasn’t hard, but far enough so you had to make an effort. He hadn’t met them. He hadn’t been ready. John hadn’t had a Facebook profile in years, in case his father might find it. Ned had agreed to simply not have anything on his own profile about his relationship status. His parents knew he was dating someone and hadn’t pressed. Alexander had the same policy, due to how complicated his dating life was and the different levels of outted-ness his partners had about different things. 

Ned declared a food and hydration break about two hours in. Alexander had come down from the thrill of John’s arrival and ate relatively quietly.

Then Ned’s phone rang. He glanced at the photo and picked it up. “Hi Dad, what’s up?”

Alexander waved at the phone, as if Ned’s father could see. 

Ned’s smile faded. “Yeah, so? What? No, we’re in the apartment. Um, yeah, he’s here. I’ll put you on speaker, but the first thing out of your mouth needs to be why you’re acting weird.”

The voice of Thomas Stevens filled the room with near-hyperventilation levels of anxiety. “Boys, you mustn’t date each other. You can’t. Don’t. Break up immediately. Oh God.”

John was about to correct the (understandable) misunderstanding, but Alexander held up a hand to stop John. “What, do you think something’s wrong with me?”

“No, Alexander - it’s, it’s, Ned, please don’t tell your mother just yet, but I can’t keep it secret if this sort of thing might - it’s like so many people assume, sometimes assumptions are right - you two really are brothers. Half-brothers. It’s all my fault.”

“HAH!” Alexander shouted in an odd sort of triumph, but he stopped immediately with Ned made a sound halfway between a growl and a whimper. John remembered that Ned and Alexander were less than a year apart in age.

“I’m so sorry you had to go into the foster care system. I honestly didn’t know, Alexander, you need to believe me. By the time Raquel would have been obviously pregnant with you, we’d left Puerto Rico, and she never contacted me. But I was reviewing case files, and I saw all your information, and my great-uncle and two of my cousins had all the signs of undiagnosed bipolar disorder, Alexander, just like you did, and you even looked like one of my cousins when she was a kid. James Hamilton, Jr. was not in my jurisdiction, but you were bouncing around and you were struggling, I couldn’t let you struggle, but I couldn’t ruin my marriage on a hunch either. I’d worked with Doctor Washington in the past, and I was the one who said I thought you needed help, but I didn’t tell him why I cared so much.”

John knew Alexander was trying to get all the precious information he could, but Ned was turning pale, and his father sounded like he was going to cry. So he said, “Mr. Stevens, my name is John, and I’m the one dating your son. Well, your publically acknowledged son. Alexander’s a mutual friend.”

There was a long pause. Thomas Stevens cleared his throat. “I simultaneously feel better and worse.”

“Dad, I’m going to hang up, go to my own room, shut the door, and video call you. John, wonderful human being that I’m amazed the universe thinks I deserve, is going to comfort your son, who has been a brother to me for a long time now. The new thing here is that he finally knows his biological father, but I have less of an idea who my dad is than I ever did before.” 

“Don’t run after him,” Alexander said quietly to John when Ned had done as he said. “Let’s clean up.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

Alexander laughed, though there was a wobble to it. “We kissed once, you know, before deciding the vibe wasn’t right. Of all the things to have in common with a Star Wars character. I have new compassion for Luke.”

John put a hand on Alexander’s jittering leg. “Does that mean I get to be Han Solo?”

“Yes. It does. Lafayette does a great Chewbacca noise. I will tell my therapist to make some popcorn just before our next session starts.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I was originally playing it as them just being friends who look kind of similar, but as the story has gone on, I've wanted to play it the other way more and more. 
> 
> \- I thoroughly support thoughtful queerbending to increase diversity and/or for dramatic purposes (I wanted John to be with an alter-Alexander and Alexander to be with someone with many similarities to John). However, I don't like erasing the real person's real significant others. Hence the nod to Hester Stevens. 
> 
> \- Hamilton's mother's name was Rachel, but I Latinized it for the AU.


	26. Keep Yourselves Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, a whole hurt/comfort chapter!
> 
> I couldn't find any info on historical Stevens' mother, so I've named my version after LMM's co-creator of In the Heights.

Ned finished his conversation with his father, and came out of his room with red eyes and a rigid posture. Alexander had run out of glib patter and fallen into a similar state about ten minutes ago, and he sat next to a box like he could use it for cover at any second but wasn’t sure he had the energy. Ned sat at the dining table, equidistant between Alexander and John, who was on the couch.

“What’d he say?” Alexander asked quietly.

“Stuff,” Ned managed after a pause, not looking at him.

John was the only one looking at anyone. He was looking at both of them. No, watching them. Seeing the afterbirth of the revelation, watching the tension grow.

The seconds ticked by. The brothers both looked so lost.

Something that went dormant in John for over a decade until his time at Vernon, something that since then had poked its head up for Alexander (connect) and Pierre (cherish) and Martian (mend) and Missy (renew) and Chev (aid) and Lafayette (hold) and Ned, Ned, Ned - this thing rose in him and warmed his throat and crackled his skin and he got to his feet and said, _“This is bullshit.’_

They whipped their heads around.

“I won’t say you gotta pull yourselves together. You are together. You need to keep yourselves together. You are exactly the same people you were less than an hour ago. I have never come to know the depths of _anyone_ so deeply and so quickly as you two. You’ve brought out a different side of me that I thought was dead and gone. You’ve taught me to gladly join the fight. Stop trying to guess what the other one is thinking, and stop trying to assume the other one knows what you are thinking. Ned, do you want to interact with Alexander any differently than you would have before that phone call?”

Ned blinked. He turned to consider Alexander. “I...um...not really.”

“Do you regret your dad having an affair with his mom?”

“Um. The cheating part is...well, that’s my mom’s to forgive or not. I’m glad Alexander exists.”

Alexander noticeably solidified and became present again. “Oh good.”

“Wait. You really thought...?”

“That might have seemed obvious to you, Ned, but there are things you learn about someone by growing up together, and other things you learn when you’re in a psych ward together at your most vulnerable. Let’s combine those things. Similarly, Alexander, do you harbor any resentment towards Ned for having grown up with a dad who was always there for him and a mother who was alive?”

“No!”

“If you had known all along that you were brothers, do you think you would have done anything significantly differently where it comes to your relationship? Only yours. Ignore the Stevens and Hamiltons and Washingtons, your cousin Peter, or Jim -”

“Or Pedro,” Alexander said. At John’s confused expression, he clarified, “My mother’s other son by a different guy, before Jim and me. She was married to his dad when he was born and was separated but not quite divorced when she met my - uh, Hamilton senior. Jim and I met Pedro, like, twice, before we moved. Sorry, I just suddenly remembered him. Tangent. In answer to your question, no. You’ve been my brother for a long time, Ned.”

Ned became looser-limbed. “Oh. Oh good.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to have our confiding sessions about sexual mishaps anymore, though, John.” Alexander grimaced, but with a comedic edge to it. 

“OH GOD. Yes, please, if you need a confidante other than your therapist, go with Lafayette. You have my blessing. Dad’s never been to Europe.”

A wave of nervous, yet relieved giggles went through the room.

***

Eliza had not given permission for Alexander to tell more than two people about the baby. Ned had not given anyone permission to tell anyone other than Lafayette about being brothers. (They’d settled on Lafayette as someone sufficiently emotionally and physically distant, yet intimate enough with two of them, and he’d been around during Alexander and Ned’s senior year of high school so he had context.) 

Alexander resolved the deadlock of secrecy using a bit of sleight-of-hand. About an hour into the movie they were watching to all recover some spoons, he asked Ned if it was all right if he shared the news to Ned’s new relative. Ned assumed he meant Jim. Alexander did plan to tell Jim eventually, but that could wait. He texted Eliza asking if he could tell his brother about the baby. Upon her saying yes, Alexander grabbed the remote, paused the movie, and called Eliza.

The moment she answered, he said in a loud, clear voice, “If one of your sisters organizes a baby shower for us, make sure she puts my high school BFF on the guest list, because I just found out from his dad - well, our dad - that Ned’s the uncle.”

The resulting reactions were much more fun than the earlier set. Good move.

***

They didn’t get any more unpacking done that day, but they did figure out how they were going to handle the situation with the Stevens parents when it came time to talk to them directly. They agreed there was no need to involve anyone else.

Ned asked John to stay overnight.

“I’m not sure about Christmas anymore,” Ned murmured when they were curled up in bed. “Usually we spend it with Dad’s family. I conceded twenty-four hours to let Dad tell Mom himself before I take it into my own hands, so I can’t ask her yet.”

Alexander was going to spend it with the Schuylers, so that was out. The Washingtons were going to be with Martha’s family. Nothing else for it. “Missy and I are having our own tiny little thing. You’re welcome to join us.”

“I’m going to try to kiss as many of your individual freckles as I can see by the light from the streetlamp through the blinds,” Ned informed him.

***

Ned’s mother showed up late the next morning, a Sunday. She called two hours ahead, but they were all asleep, and Ned and Alexander didn’t check their voicemails until during their brunch. 

“She always does this,” Ned sighed. “Nobody’s naked. That’s what she’s gonna get. Can’t be bothered.”

“I could -” John said. 

Ned grabbed his wrist. “Need your face.” He did not elaborate, but fair enough. 

Alexander stirred his muesli and gazed into the bowl like he could see the future in it. “Don’t worry, John, your robe is super classy.”

Ned buzzed her into the building, and opened the door for her. “ _Hola, Mami,_ ” He sounded like he was reading from a script.

She wrapped her arms around him. “My sweet boy. I’m not automatically divorcing your father. I promise. We’re going to do counseling, though.”

He said something John couldn’t hear, and hugged back.

When they separated, John said, “Hello. I’m John, and I’m Ned’s boyfriend. What would you like me to call you?”

“Please, call me Quiara.” Quiara had a slight hint of an accent, worn down by years of living near DC. It was probably hindsight, but John genuinely thought she looked like all the parts of Ned that didn’t look like Alexander. She had bags under her eyes that were almost concealed by the makeup. She didn’t remove her coat, but she shook his hand. “I look forward to getting to know you better. Unfortunately, I am in a ten-minute parking space and I left my suitcase in the car.”

“Are you going out of town?” Ned asked.

“I need to clear my head. An old friend invited me to stay until after New Year’s. Will you be all right? Will you feel abandoned?”

“John’s taking care of me. Do what you need to do.” 

“We’ll exchange gifts after? I’ll have to include John in that now, clearly.”

“Sounds good.” Ned let John lace their fingers together.

Quiara wiped a smear of peanut butter off Ned’s face using her index finger. Then she turned to face Alexander, who was now clutching at his muesli oracle. “Alexander, may I hug you too?”

Alexander didn’t move for a moment, but then he nodded. He didn’t move further. Quiara went to him and put an arm around his shoulders. She said softly, “Nothing has changed between us. Understand? Your mother is with God, and beyond any judgment of mine. I’m glad you’ve been such a wonderful friend to Ned all these years. Please continue. Whatever happens, it has nothing to do with you.”

Alexander nodded again. He squeezed one of her hands. She returned the gesture, then headed back towards the door. “I’m sorry to drop by so briefly, but I need to go, in more ways than one. If you could check in with your father to make sure he doesn’t do anything desperate, I’d appreciate that. I needed to say these things in person, though. I have nothing but warmth for all three of you.”

Then she was gone again. 

There was another long silence.

“Anyone wanna get dressed and go hunt for Pokemon?” Ned asked.

Alexander sounded like he had something stuck in his throat. “Yeah. Sure. Sweet.”

“I’ll be lookout and keep you from getting hit by cars,” John offered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton's definitely-half-brother by his mother's ex-husband was actually named Peter, but again, I'm tweaking minor character names to fit backstory.


	27. Yelling a Message of Your Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now for something a little different: an IM conversation between John and Chev.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Busy, but needed the release, you know? So have another short chapter. I intentionally made typos for verisimilitude.
> 
> This has some discussion of misgendering, and there are spoilers for chapter 2 of Three Days Already. There's also at least one inside joke for that fic.

Chev:  
You online?

John:  
yes

Chev:  
Hey. Pierre's asleep in Vietnam and Reinette's been working overtime, and you said sister's been tired as shit and if I confided something to Friedrich before saying it to Pierre it'd hurt my boy's feelings even if he says ir's finr. I have a limited number of friends who know my designation, which is needed for this convo. Can I vent to you?

John:  
Sure. What is Reinette's job? curious

Chev:  
Some officey thing. Can't name it rn for the life of me

John:  
np

Chev:  
So we're having multiple Christmas gatherings with multiple sets of relatives, and I'm not allowed to bow out. I agreed to this in exchange for my parents never saying a word about my kidnapping to anyone, excluding each other or any licensed mental health pro they might see at some point, but including me. They told EVERYONE about when I ran away, John, and why. 

John:  
That's not helpful.

Chev:  
Nope. Today's pre-real-xmas get-together was actually getting along okay. Told people the bandage was covering up the results of an initiation ritual. Or the wound from putting my entire hand inside a snake's gullet to fish out my best friend's heirloom ring. Or (sigh) the injury from walking a huge dog, which yanked really hard on the leash that was wrapped around my wrist. I told them to pick their favorite. Other times, not today, I just gasp and stared at it in mute horror.

Chev:  
The potluck worked out well, and my favorite cousin gave me both perfume and cologne, as a show of support. Cute mini bottles in a nice origami box she'd made. We were doing a gift swap with one other randomly chosen relative, but she wasn't my real swapper. This particular uncle gave me a copy of Super-Easy Rad Recipes for the Single Dude. 

John:  
0_O

Chev:  
The real title was worse. I cleared my throat and said, "Uh, you do know I made the chicken pot pies, right? From scratch, right? Like I did last year? And you were there on Thanksgiving when I made the pumpkin spice souffle? And I literally just gave you assortment of candied bacon that I candied, which I did research to determine it as something you'd like? Also, not a dude."

Chev:  
Before you ask, my ex was a serous foodie

John:  
By ex, do you mean

Chev:  
yeahh. taught me cooking, wine (and beer!) and food pairings, a few bedroom techniques, and reasons to distrust people

John:  
D: (sorry I'm so emoticon heavy a bit tired)

Chev:  
np. Various things were said, some by other people, Fave Cousin and her mom sticking up for me in an assertive way, my parents weakly calling for calm and courtesy. I didn't lose it until he said, "Simmer down, Charlie, you're gonna rob yourself of advantages if you keep splitting hairs. It's not like you went for girl, either."

John:  
Would you like me to find him and shake him while yelling a message of your choice?

Chev:  
lol <3

Chev:  
Already said my message. Growled it, kinda. I can manage an almost baritone when enraged. Everyone there was either an adult or pre-verbal infant, so I let loose. "I alright with someone who can't wrap their heads around the concept of non-binary genders but makes an effort to be respectful. Someone who can't wrap their head around being biologically INTERSEX, which you KNOW I AM, and how that doesn't necessarily but MIGHT lead to BEING AN UNCONVENTIONAL GENDER, and when you also know about some of the shoveloads of CRAP I HAVE GONE THROUGH BECAUSE OF THIS, is inexcusable. 

Chev:  
Also, I emailed ALL of you when I changed my name to Mx. Charles-Genevieve "Chev" Beaumont d'Eon FIVE YEARS AGO. You can't send me to my bedroom. I am already going. People who have consistently called me 'they' since the day I first asked are permitted to knock."

Chev:  
Then as I was going up the stairs, I paused and announced, "Also, I'm not single, but you don't deserve to meet my adorable genius boyfriend."

John:  
l'espirit d'escalier

Chev:  
more or less

John:  
i find your story cathartic. and impressive, of course

Chev:  
really

John:  
my father's a Republican South Carolinian politician and it is consistent with most of his family, and I've never met the other side of the family in person. I did a lot of biting my tongue during extended family gatherings.

Chev:  
southern motherfuckin republican

John:  
lol <3

John:  
"Not All SMRs." Apparently alexander's boyfriend's family are ok, eventually

Chev:  
Not your demographic, but your deeds.

John:  
I like that.

John:  
I will absolutely keep talking if you need me to, but I was planning on video calling Lafayette for an hour ten minutes ago, and an old friend in England after

Chev:  
Go do the thing, please! Tell Lafayette that I am definitely up for rematch this summer. The English immersion camp I'll be coaching at is a manageable distance 

Chev:  
Thanks for listening. I feel less inclined to cut a bitch and take back that delicious candied bacon. I used real maple syrup!! 

John:  
You're welcome. Hope actual Christmas day is better.

Chev:  
It will be. I have seen to it. I have my ways. ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This goes out to everyone for whom family-oriented holidays are particularly stressful.
> 
> On a lighter note, the best cooks in this AU, in ascending order, are: Thom, Ned, Adrienne, and Chev (except Chev doesn't cook much if it isn't a special occasion, so Adrienne wins for practical purposes)
> 
> The worst, in descending order:  
> James Madison (due to his troubles with hot objects and knives), George King, the pothole from Departure Days, and Missy


	28. Lentils, Lace, and Ladies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Researching this chapter made me fall into a wikipedia spiral that resulted in my one-shot canon-era fic "Lived to See Our Glory"

Lafayette called John the moment he made himself available on Skype, and waved enthusiastically the moment the video started. Behind him were all the trappings of a large home office/library, with lots of wood panelling and a what looked like an oil painting off to the side. Lafayette himself was wearing an ensemble that included a sweater vest, yet was somehow still chic, and his boxy reading glasses.

“John! It’s been an age. I jokingly accused Alexander of returning to Virginia right after my departure as a simply spiteful move, to frustrate me, but I do not envy what he and Ned are going through. Before we move to discussing one another, have there been developments? Alexander is spread too thin to give me updates for awhile.”

“They went to visit their father, and basically said the part they’re really upset about is the decades-plus of lying, and that’s the part they need to work on healing. Ned’s asked for space and time. Alexander’s asked for time and proximity, one-on-one, because it’s taken years for his relationship with George Washington to be this good, so he’d better start now if he’s gonna have anything workable with Thomas Stevens.” John could hear Missy shouting in her room. She was playing Bioshock 2 again. 

“What are you smiling about, hm?”

“Little sisters. Anyway, so that’s what I know about the Hamilvens family. It’s Christmas Eve Eve here, and Missy and I are both gathering up solitude points before we have our respective boyfriends over for Christmas Eve and Day. Last-minute development. It’s the first time I’ll be meeting hers other than in passing.” John took a sip of water, then he leaned in. “Lafayette, he’s a widower, and also a divorcee, with kids he doesn’t have custody of. And he’s, like, ten years older than her, but when I bring that up, she points out that I’ve never cautioned Pierre against dating someone TWENTY years older, and I said, well, poly people don’t put all their eggs in one basket, and same-sex relationships have different power dynamics, and most importantly Pierre is not my…”

“Little sister?” Lafayette smirked in such a subtle way that he could have denied it.

John sat back and threw up his hands. “I’ve heard from everyone that he’s nice. He helped Chev in a pinch. I don’t want to obsess about this. How are you?”

“I would say I am...much. First of all, did you receive the packages I had sent to you? One for you, one for your sister?”

“Yes.” John removed his from under the desk. “The customs declaration slightly steals your thunder, though. I know it’s edible.”

Lafayette sighed. “Sometimes I wonder why I even bring the thunder. In any case, open it, because one of the things inside is actually meant to be put to use before the day. The other item you may safely place under your tree.”

“We’re using the rosemary tree Adrienne gave me,” John said in passing. He noted Lafayette’s little ‘ee’ when told, but he didn’t stop to comment. Instead he removed a card and a beautiful package of…”Are these lentils?”

“These are the famous single-origin lentils of the city my home is on the outskirts of, Le Puy-en-Velay, yes, and recipes handwritten by Adrienne. It was to study the nature and improve the distribution of these lentils that her father was invited to come work and live here. Well, this variety of lentil, not this package of lentils in particular. They are unusually high in protein, which I imagine could only be a good thing for you now that you have given up meat. Perhaps you could choose one recipe for hosting the boyfriends, unless you already have a menu planned, or if you don’t feel like cooking. A thought.”

“I like that idea. _Merci beaucoup._ ” 

“You’re welcome. Some of them require hours of advanced soaking, though, so read again.”

“Got it. Whatever goes well will be thanks to Adrienne, and whatever goes badly, we can attribute to me.” John had made a Google page to serve as an ongoing virtual scrapbook of everything Lafayette’s American loved ones were up to, and invited several others to contribute and edit. He was going to email Lafayette the link when the moment came. 

“The city is also famous for a very large statue of the Virgin Mary on a hill, historically popular for pilgrimages, but she wouldn’t fit in a box.”

“I thought the French were experts in gifting huge female statues to America.”

“I adore you. Let me think. Adrienne is in good health and has taken the reins on getting us settled back in. Meanwhile, poor Auguste - he’s a...I think the word is ‘steward’...he’s been increasingly managing the estate and finances as my grandmother’s aged and become less enthusiastic to do so, and is trying to get me ready to do his job. It’s not that I can’t have someone advising me in the future, but the will clearly states that I have to be the primary decision-maker on these matters once I turn thirty. It’s possible for me to get out of some of these terms, but only after I’ve taken on the authority that would allow such a thing, if that makes sense. While I’m not utterly unfamiliar with all this, it’s very complicated, and he’s a precise sort of man with a horror of things being done incorrectly, you see?”

“I do.”

“My grandmother’s about to have a hip replacement, and she is cheered by having us close by. I think Adrienne’s parents would move in if they didn’t have other obligations. We’ve gone ahead and dedicated a suite to them. We’ve been catching up with old friends. My mother…”

John didn’t say anything. He had never heard much about Lafayette’s mother, and that in itself implied a lot.

“I’m told her new rehab clinic is stellar. Auguste says her living expenses are paid for and I mustn’t send her any more money, no matter what she claims, given her...habits. I will go visit soon. When I can.” Lafayette drank from his glass of something. “I’m also having a little trouble with a local official, but I’m not sure you want to go that route.”

“If I can’t trust you to tell me when there’s bad stuff happening, I might just assume it’s going on all the time and you’re not telling me.” 

“Fair. It’s not catastrophic, but there’s this politician who’s formed something called, I think the translation is ‘Committee of Public Safety’, which is very George Orwell, given their ideas. It’s a shame, because he did great work in labor rights before this, and he uncovered corruption involving people taking bribes from the local lace-making industry. Now it’s all counter-terrorism rhetoric - because of course, Le Puy-en-Velay is so very high on terrorist priorities - and arguing that certain crimes should have a ‘streamlined’ prosecution process. What a lovely euphemism. Not only that, but this Maximilien Robespierre claims that I have designs on some kind of, of, infiltration. Or coup. I. Me.”

“Whaaat.”

“That is similar to what I said.”

“Do you have a lawyer?”

“Yes. Civil liberties attorney Cécile-Aimée Renault has had it in for him for a long time now, and she’s happy to have someone funding her quest to make people ‘see what a tyrant looks like’. She showed me a photomontage she’s assembled of him making throat-slitting gestures at people. She’s my new favorite Ponot, until Georges/Henriette joins us out in the world.”

“That’s the best name for a person from a city since ‘Pittsburgher’.”

“You think so?” Lafayette glanced at his phone. “Nooooooo, I have to talk to someone else! Why! Why cannot I always be talking to my favorite people?”

“I have another favorite person to talk to, so don’t feel bad. It was nice hearing about the lentils, lace, and ladies.”

“I will not feel bad. I will continue to miss you, though.” Lafayette blew him a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are real, archived letters in which Lafayette writes to Hamilton or Washington that he'd be angry at them for not being better at keeping in touch if he didn't love them so much. There's a sweet, pouty quality to the extracts I read. He wasn't mad about the neutrality. He was mad about the infrequency of letters. (I read an extract of a Washington letter to L in which W apologizes for being bad at expressing his feelings and not knowing what to say in personal letters.) If Lafayette got to sing in 'Take a Break', he'd sing to them: "I know you're really busy, I know your work's important, but you're across the ocean and I just can't wait." He was friends with Angelica, too! They could duet!
> 
>  
> 
> \----  
> Namedrops!
> 
> \- Auguste Levasseur was Lafayette's secretary who accompanied him and Georges on their grand tour of America in 1824.
> 
> \- Robespierre was a major factor in slavery being outlawed in all French colonies (it was already outlawed in France itself). If only he'd stuck to that, instead of turning into something more like the Queen of Hearts. There was a political cartoon of the time showing him executing the executioner, having run out of everyone else. He said that Lafayette was probably planning a military coup of the French government. Guess which one lived to 76, and which one got guillotined at 36?
> 
> \- Cécile-Aimée Renault was guillotined during the Terror for supposedly planning to assassinate Robespierre, on the grounds that she was found walking towards his house with two small knives. She denied it and said, "I only wanted to see what a tyrant looks like."


	29. Close for a Bit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another compromise between my Id and Superego. It's 500 words and took me about 45 minutes. It was supposed to only be 365 or 30 minutes, but the Id is strong, and I am really tired of grading all these tests. 
> 
> Warnings:  
> \- Implied stuff that could upset emetophobics  
> \- Discussion of food issues  
> \- Mention of self-harm by deliberate over-exertion.

"...so Lafayette and Adrienne celebrate Christmas?" Martian asked. She kept scanning the floor around and behind her, since Frances was on a crawling spree.

"Kinda. Both he and Adrienne love any excuse to feed and give things to people they like. They don't do special decorations or wrap the gifts. Most of Lafayette's relatives are Catholic, actually. This isn't important. Do you have plane tickets? Do you? We're getting close!"

"Yes, I do. Calm down. Your friend Hercules and I agreed that they'd pay for Jane's plane ticket and accommodations, and I'll pay for my own plane ticket but get to enjoy the same accommodations as Jane. And, of course, access to you and your sister and all your new cohort. We'll get here January 10." She used the video feed of herself as a mirror to get something out of her teeth. John liked how unselfconscious she was with him. " She'll stay a week after the wedding, with old friends in Boston, do book promo stuff there. I'll have to go back the day after the reception. For work, sorry. And we won't bring Frances. I know you'd like to meet her, but it makes more sense to leave her with her father and aunts."

"It's okay -" John stopped when he heard the knock on his door. "Missy? What's up?"

"Private thing, now, please." She sounded miserable.

"I'll talk to you later," Martian said. "Merry Happy Christmas."

John's door wasn't locked, but he got up to meet Missy anyway. She was holding out a plastic bag like there were live cockroaches in it that would get angry if jostled. "I need you - please I need you to get rid of everything in here."

It was full of emetics, laxatives, and chewing gum. His chest ached. "Of course. Is the gum meant to be there?"

"Yes. Part of the ritual. I've been so careful, but these types of holidays...Last night I stopped by the 24-hour Rite Aid. Few minutes ago went to look for cheat codes and got triggered by a stupid banner ad. It didn't feel like control at all. Felt like dying."

John flung the wretched bag inside his room and shut the door behind him. "Hey, remember what you said that time I got upset and did so many pushups that I aggravated my shoulder and we had to go to Urgent Care?"

"That a setback isn't a failure?"

He wrapped her arms around her. "I'm proud of you. Thank you for trusting me with this. How about I deal with those things, and go soak some lentils, and you hydrate and pick out something to watch together? If you really want to be alone I'll respect that, but I'd rather keep you close for a bit."

"I don't want to be alone. How 'bout one of the low-angst Firefly episodes? Telenovelas are a little too much right now."

"Sounds good."

She kissed his cheek. "Thanks, Jack."

"You always take care of me. My turn."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're not familiar with the show Firefly and the subsequent loose-ends-tying film Serenity, two of the nine main characters are a brother and sister with a very strong bond, and the many things they are dealing with include mental health issues and abandonment by their rich father (thankfully, my Laurenses are not also on the run from evil dystopian government scientists). But they have a ragtag, lovable found family. IN SPAAAAACE.
> 
> John's final line is a paraphrase from the sister to the brother in Serenity, and in context it is one of the best moments ever, and it gives me chills every tiiiiime. If any Browncoats are reading, it's the shiniest, dong ma?


	30. Double-Date Christmas Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains brief touches upon food issues and animal medical research. 
> 
> I procrastinate, you benefit!

John opened the door. Ned held out a plastic-wrapped platter of haphazardly iced sugar cookies, while also hefting a large backpack. “Xander had an anxiety attack last night about his meeting with the extended Schuyler clan as Eliza’s official romantic primary, though they’re just saying ‘boyfriend’. So we baked.”

The newest development in Alexander’s romantic life was that Thom’s girlfriend Liz had checked with her metamour for his blessing to ask Thom to marry her, and Thom independently checked with Alexander to see if he could cope with Thom accepting. Alexander wasn’t hugely surprised, and he’d realized that he’d been emotionally gravitating towards Eliza more and more, with the pregnancy kicking it up a notch. It was also more obvious when Thom wasn't just a moment way. They’d all agreed the guys were welcome to keep dating and sexing as long as their ladies’ needs came first. They’d also agreed that if absolutely anyone trivialized their bisexuality as a result, they would tear that person apart. 

“Did you hear back about Peggy’s answer to Eliza’s idea?” John asked, receiving the cookies. Eliza and Alexander wanted to cohabit to raise their child, no matter the timeline of any possible marriage between them, but they needed time to become a regular part of each other’s lives, and Peggy and Ned needed to sort out their respective living situations. Eliza had a 7-month plan. 

“She says yes. Girlfriend’s not the solution, though, because Sybil’s moved into her sick mother’s house to care for her.” Ned put down his backpack and trailed into the kitchen after John. “Others?”

“Missy’s asleep. Rough night. Let’s not wake her. Ramzi’s working, but reduced hours. He’ll be here around three. Hey, so, it’s not my place to explain why, but I’m going to tuck these cookies away, and we’re just going to casually announce that they exist without putting them somewhere obvious. So there won’t be any perceived pressure to eat them to avoid offending you. In general, today, please don’t ask Missy whether she likes the food. Or talk about food, other than saying thank you if they compliment us on what we’ve made. Okay?”

“Of course.” 

When John was done putting aluminum foil over the plastic wrap and placing the cookies at the corner of the counter, near the outlets, Ned leaned back against the wall and gently pulled John towards him. “Oh, hi,” John said, smiling.

“Kinda want to be the other way around, but I know that’s hard sometimes. We can stay this way. Whichever.”

John turned them both so he was the one against the wall. “I like it today. Just don’t touch my face with your hands.”

“I won’t.” He lightly kissed various parts of it instead, before John got needy and went for the mouth. He twirled a loose curl and rested the other hand on John’s hip, rubbing the thumb in slow arcs. 

“This is a new level of impatience,” John teased, a little breathlessly.

“You’ve been especially lovable lately. Didn’t know it was possible. Not impatience, cariño. Impatience would be undoing your pants and getting on my knees right here, rather than suggesting we move to your room.”

“Hooray for patience.”

After Ned locked John’s bedroom door behind him, he asked, “Can your desk take your weight? Relevance is up to you.” 

***

“Sort of a double-date Christmas Eve. What do you think of double-date New Year’s Eve? With Alexander and Eliza? He’s enthused.”

“Sounds good,” John murmured. He was absentmindedly petting Ned’s chest hair. “Two sets of first kisses last year."

“Tidy. Hm. Maybe we should de-grossify and then eat lunch.”

“Probably.”

“But you’re warm.”

“It’s an irrefutable rebuttal.”

 

***  
After a nap (Ned claimed he hadn’t fallen asleep, John asked if he’d considered making sure he didn’t have a tiny, grumpy bear trapped in his sinuses) they had to return to the world of the clothed and functional. They were working their way through Adrienne’s lentil soup recipe when the doorbell rang. 

The newcomer brought a cheesy pasta-y thing that came in a meat version and a non-meat, in separate dishes. He also brought three wrapped gifts. And flowers. And a rehearsed, nonthreatening smile. His glasses had retro-looking “horn” rims, and they were very thick. He had the occasional gray strand in his hair, but so did twenty-three-year-old Chev. 

“Dr. David, right?” John asked.

“Ramzi, please. I assume you’re John, otherwise this scenario isn’t going to plan.”

“Depends on your plan. You can put stuff right there. Let me help you with your coat.”

Ned poked his head out of the kitchen. “Hi! John, do you need that thing you left in the bedroom?”

It took John a split second, but he felt a bloom of gratitude and said, “Yes, the thing. I need that.”

***

“Is this the part where you tell me not to hurt your sister? I can assure you I have no intention.”

“No, Missy would get to decide what happens if you hurt her, and I’d just be supportive. Plus people hurt loved ones by accident all the time, and that’s between you guys unless one of you comes to me for advice. That’s not what this is about. I want to know what relationship you want to have with me.”

“Oh! That’s a really healthy question, I think.”

“Wow, I can tell what specific healthcare field you work in, even if you’re a GP.”

“Haha. Yes, the only one they’ve got working full-time. That’s why they have me arbitrate all the inter-profession bowling matches. I’d like to be friends with you. I’m not going to dive into wanting to be a psuedo-brother or something like that.”

“Good. I’d start backing away.”

“If this is of any concern, both Aaron Burr and Hercules Mulligan are former patients at Vernon, and they’re my colleagues and equals. I’m not going to patronize you over your stay there.”

“That would be a very short route to a fight, so I’m glad. I’m relieved you got hired after I got discharged, though.”

“It’s less uncomfortable. Eliza tells me she and Alexander have to tiptoe around certain things sometimes.”

“Yeah.”

“Yes.”

“I need to tell you some things about how we’re going to talk about and present food this evening and tonight. I also want you to tell me your favorite seasoning. It’s not relevant to stuff we’ll be eating, but I like to know.”

“Certainly, and cardamom.”

***

Missy emerged from her room, saw Ramzi, and sort of melted into him, arms around his neck and pressed full against. “Haven’t seen you all week.”

He kissed her temple. “Missed you. Quality flirting on the break room whiteboard, though.”

“I’m taking the whole next week off.”

“Lucky. They couldn’t find me a replacement.”

“Jack, did you know that Ramzi is entitled to use any of the staff break rooms, but he always uses a particular one?” Missy hadn’t brushed her hair yet, but she was wearing the dress of hers that was the best intersection of pretty and comfortable. Her eyes had dark circles under them, but the relaxed smile seemed real. 

“Only because I like messing with Phyllis’ poetry magnets, most definitely. I put the presents I brought under the table with the little rosemary tree on it, but where’d you get the tiny crocheted snowflake ornaments?”

“Alexander gave them to me last year,” John said. He fiddled with the remote. “There we go, a two-hour video of a crackling fireplace, plus sound effects.”

“No cast-iron pan?” Ned called out from waist-deep in a cupboard.

“Adrienne wrote that the cast-iron pan is optional.”

“But ideal!”

“I’ll come help you in a sec. Missy, you can kiss him when I’m in the room. I’m not a hypocrite.”

Missy gave him a thumbs-up and tugged her boyfriend down by the shirt collar.

***

“Are they ever going to stop talking about mesenchymal tumors?” John whispered to Missy, gesturing at their boyfriends.

Missy ate a few more cashews. She’d counted them out into her palm, then pushed the bowl to the opposite side of the coffee table. “You and Ned have gone on and on about mosquito breeding cycles. Be happy they’re getting along.”

“But were the rats’ gland abnormalities statistically significant as a whole?” Ramzi asked Ned.

Ned sighed and made a ‘what can you do’ gesture. “The control group was compromised. Had to euthanize about sixty.”

“How about that Marvel Cinematic Universe, huh?” Missy piped up.

***

“I can’t believe I’ve never watched A Muppet Christmas Carol before this,” John said. “Good rec, Ned, thank you.”

Ned patted John’s leg. They were happily squished together on the oversize armchair. “Alexander used to watch this with me when he was depressed.”

“I’d never seen it either, but it didn’t get much play in Lebanon when I was growing up, for some strange reason,” Ramzi said, deadpan. 

“While I have you on my couch, Dr. David, why don’t you tell me about your childhood?” Missy asked in a voice of exaggerated, slightly pompous concern.

“After this musical number is over.”

***

“I will never diss French lentils,” Missy said a few bites into dinner.

“Were you planning on it?” John asked.

“Nah, mostly been dissing French carrots.”

Ned jokingly tsked and pulled out his phone. “Parisian carrots. Going to see if I can grow them.”

“THOSE ARE SO CUTE I WANT TO EAT THEM ALL!”

“I’m now frightened to see you in the presence of kittens, my dear,” Ramzi said. 

***

“Why is my cookie iced with the pi symbol?” John asked. Missy and Ramzi were doing dishes.

Ned very seriously dunked a full two-thirds of his cookie into his mug of milk. “Xander was ranting about what isn’t and isn’t genuinely ironic, and explained why what he’d just done wasn’t ironic, not counting hipster irony.”

“How are you two doing?”

“Chill. Awkward pauses where we see teen memories in a whole new light.”

“Wanna talk about your dad?”

“No.”

“That’s cool. Wanna go for a walk in a minute?”

“Sure.”

***

When they got back from their walk, Missy and Ramzi were missing. There was a sign on the bedroom door saying, “WE’LL GET UP WHEN WE GET UP.”

“You know, a guy I dated way back when used to say that Santa won’t show up if you aren’t sleeping, but it counts if you’re sleeping with someone.” John realized he’d actually mentioned his dating history in something other than a therapeutic setting. Huh.

Ned rolled his eyes. “Break up with him because of pickup lines? Oh, no, no, sorry, just kidding, was that too soon?”

“It was, kinda. I know you didn't mean anything by it." John put an arm around Ned’s waist to show he wasn't resentful.

“I actually really want hot cider right now, but you’re welcome to have me however right after.”

John shook his fist. “Curses, foiled by beverages. I think we have cinnamon sticks.” 

“We’ll raise a glass. Of what? Apple juice. Delicious.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parisian carrots:  
> 
> 
> The last line is taken from the Ham4Ham skit in which Chris Jackson sings "The Story of Tonight" with Elmo (except Ned is speaking both roles). 
> 
> Dialect note: in the demographic these two belong to, "cider" by default is understood to be non-alcoholic unfiltered apple juice. Alcoholic cider is "hard cider". I know this is not true in all English dialects.
> 
> Truth: When I write Ned's dialogue, I write something similar to what Alexander would say, then - unless he is under severe emotional stress of certain types - I delete as many words as I can. Often I turn up the courtesy a notch.


	31. TO JACK FROM SANTA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brace for feels.

John accused Missy of hypocrisy when she knocked on his door, but she said she needed Ned’s combination of long arms and 20/20 vision, please.

“Ramzi’s glasses somehow ended up super deep under my dresser, my arms are too short to get them, and he’s legally blind without his glasses,” she said in an apologetic rush. John’s sleep-clouded brain envied how fuzzy her robe looked. It was better than speculating on the “somehow” of where the glasses ended up.

“You’re automatically assuming my arms are also too short?” 

“I am too much of a gentleman to make an innuendo about your proportions in your sister’s hearing.” Ned kissed the back of John’s neck and went to help. 

Now alone, John peed, brushed his teeth, then shrugged to himself and crawled back into bed. Something warm joined him and pulled him close not long after. 

They finally got up to find that Ramzi had made French toast and Missy had put together a fruit platter. “But presents before any food,” Missy declared. They moved the presents to the coffee table so they could sit on the living room furniture.

John received a fuzzy robe from Ned (whaaaat), a National Geographic subscription from Ramzi (well-researched and generous), and a box set of yet more telenovelas from Missy (these ones not pirated, though). 

Lafayette and Adrienne’s other gift turned out to be a pair of lace-trimmed cloth squares, one embroidered with JL and one with ES. There were two unsigned notes. One said: “We miss you, John, and hope you and yours are well. _Joyeux Noel! Bonne Anné!_ ” The other read: “Handmade Ponot lace, if you wish to lend one to your defeated foe, that he may stand on a parapet and you may lower your guns as he frantically waves a white handkerchief. Or if you wish to attend a formal occasion together. Why not both?”

“Gee, I wonder who wrote which note?” Missy was breaking her own rule, though to be fair Ramzi was the one who kept casually placing strawberries in her hand. John supposed they probably had their own intervention style, like when Ned interrupted his excessive crunches by sprawling on the floor next to him and asking about something irrelevant and innocuous. _Marathoning Star Wars prequels or Matrix sequels? I know it's lose-lose, but if you had to choose?_

“I guess this one’s for you,” John said, handing Ned the ES one. “Don’t let Alexander think it’s Eliza’s.”

Ned folded it nicely and tucked it in the breast pocket of the flannel shirt he was wearing over his t-shirt. That is, until he unwrapped the absurdly soft cardigan John got him. Then he ceremoniously put his flannel shirt around John’s shoulders - John hadn’t put on the robe yet because he wanted to wash it first - and put on the cardigan. Then he found out that the pockets had seed packets in them, including for Parisian carrots. John had spent a decent amount of time looking at gardening sites. “Awesome. Wow.”

“I’m glad you like them.”

“Like is not the word I’m looking for.” Ned squeezed his hand. “Thank you.”

John hadn’t been sure what to give Ramzi, so he got him a set of fun office supplies in bright colors and different shapes. Everyone who has an office can use more office supplies. “This is perfect. I lose pens constantly, and I swear someone’s been eating my paperclips or using it to line their shirts or something. Thank you.”

He gave Missy a large, many-pocketed messenger bag that said BAG OF HOLDING on it. “I wouldn’t recommend putting as much stuff in it as Chanterelle the druid puts in hers, though.”

“She does have magic, after all,” Missy agreed. “Thank you. Oh hey, there’s something way back there.”

It was a small box labeled TO JACK FROM SANTA.

“Really?” John asked.

“Really.”

“Are we in a situation like me and Lewis, where Santa frequently has you write stuff for him?” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Open it.”

It was a small assortment of not his usual style of candy, and it took him a moment to think. There were a bunch of Smarties, one lone Dum Dum miniature lollipop, a few different types of rainbow candy (Skittles, jelly beans, nonpareils with tiny round rainbow sprinkles), and a few Charleston Chews. He was about to gratefully tease her for tracking down an obscure candy named after a dance just for a pun about their birthplace, but then at the bottom he noticed a toothbrush. Specifically, a Tigger from Winnie the Pooh toothbrush.

“It's a special day for candy, but Santa doesn’t want you to get cavities,” he recited slowly, cradling the box in his hands. It was smart of Missy to not write that, because it wouldn't have been in supposedly-Santa-but-much-like-Mami's handwriting. John knew it by heart from many Christmases anyway. 

“I really hope this is more heartwarming than triggering. I asked Alexander. I didn’t give you anything last Christmas, because, you know, didn’t expect to, so I thought about what I could give that nobody else...” Missy was making vague gestures and Ramzi looked concerned.

John dabbed at his eyes. “This is. Um. Thanks. Remember when J-J-Junior wanted to watch the Tigger movie again, and again, and you told him that Tigger was getting tired of performing for him so often, so we needed to watch something else so Tigger could get some rest? And Jamie panicked out of fear that he’d been overworking the entire Sesame Street cast, and we had to tell them that they don’t get tired if you watch different episodes, only if you watch the same one over and over?”

“Yes, I do. C’mere.” She scooted away from Ramzi and held out her arms.

He complied. “I love it, thank you, it’s just so.”

“I know.”

“Don’t feel bad about giving this to me. This is wonderful.”

“I don’t feel bad. I watch people have meltdowns for a living. I know which ones are the constructive kind.”

Ned took over John-holding duties after a while, and kept going even after Missy brought them a tray of food.

“I totally just got your nice new handkerchief dirty,” John said. 

“I will not say do not weep, for not all tears are an evil.”

“Are you soothing me with a Gandalf quote?”

“Is it working?” Ned put more syrup on his bite of bread before carefully bringing it to his own mouth without dripping on John. 

“Nerd. After I digest, can you come for a run with me? Others are welcome, but I’m specifically asking Ned, by the way.” John looked over at the other couple. 

Ramzi was eating and looking through the Guinness World Records 2016 book Missy got him - he'd given her a jewelry box that looked like a Companion Cube from Portal and told her he didn't want to get her actual jewelry until he had a better idea of her tastes. He had a little folding magnifying glass to help with the small print. Missy was reading along over his shoulder. She looked up. “Huh? What?”

“Nothing.”

“I love you too. Oh my god, why is there even a category for most scorpions sat in a bathtub with? ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was very little, I wanted my parents to play with puppets with me to the extent that they told me the puppets were tired.


	32. The Remainder of December Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Mention of animal death for medical research purposes.
> 
> \- Reference to a child suffering an injury with long-term consequences (but growing up to healthy adulthood)
> 
> \- Good ol' Henry Laurens thoughts

John and Missy had the remainder of December off, but this was Ned’s last day off until New Year’s, when he’d get another day. 

“The rats’ symptoms can’t be paused,” he explained after their dinner on Christmas, which was leftovers from the previous night. “I got permission to take some of the control group home with me once they’re not needed. A dozen or so of the most lively and sociable. I’m gonna keep my two favorite females and see if anyone will adopt the others. If not, my friend Hester works at a rescue for abandoned exotic pets, and the snakes get expensive to feed. Better than just euthanizing and tossing perfectly healthy rats.”

It was the longest speech he’d made in the past 48 hours. Even Ramzi seemed impressed. “I can ask around,” he said.

“It’ll be at least two more weeks for this batch, before we kill and autopsy Group A. New set of controls for Group B. Dr. Pickering has been nice enough to assign me to important tasks OTHER than the injecting and killing and autopsy-ing ‘until I get the stomach for it’.” Ned relaxed a little as John rubbed his back. He’d been picking at his food. 

Missy fiddled with the scarf Ned had commissioned Alexander to crochet for her, as a way to keep his friend/brother calm during the final degree-earning push. “I think it’s pretty great you’re following your passion anyway.”

“A human can live healthily without meat, but you can’t find safe treatment for cancer without killing some rats, at least not the kind of cancer we’re working on.”

Ramzi and Missy took this as a cue to talk about the bowling tournament cancer fundraiser. He’d joined the organizers so that Missy, Eliza, and Molly didn’t have to do it all, and apparently Dolley Madison had found out somehow and was putting together an extra team of former Men’s First Floor patients: “Pinball Wizards”. The other teams so far were the usual “Nurse Sharks”, “Techs Mix”, “Freudian Splits” (Therapists), “Shrink Raps” (Psychiatrists), and “First Strike” (Admin). They were all still sorting out logistics. 

“We want to get it done soon, though, because Theodosia’s suddenly been scheduled for surgery before the end January,” Missy concluded.

After dinner, and after Ramzi had taken his leave, John asked, “What do you want to do tomorrow, then?”

“I want to go ice skating and then use the Noodles & Co gift card Missy gave me. Since I’ll be working on our actual anniversary.” They didn’t count their first date last New Year’s Eve as their anniversary, because it had been Alexander’s idea, and John believed anniversaries on holidays were jinxed. 

John had to kiss him then. The first phone call John had made Ned, the weekend after the date Alexander had set them up on, had been, _”Uh, hi, this is John - well, you know from caller ID - anyway, I don’t know how to ice skate and you don’t know how to rumba, maybe we could, uh, trade?”_

***

DEC 26

“Martian sent me an IM wishing me happy Boxing Day. She’s gone native, yikes. I thanked her for teaching me how to dance way back when, so I felt like I could repay you for the ice skating. She said it was her entirely selfish desire to have someone to practice with outside of the socially incestuous dance team. Then she said, ‘go for it, buddy’.” Then John reached the front of the skate rental line and briefly blanked on his own shoe size. His chest got tight for no good reason. Was the Sertraline giving him memory issues?

“He’s a 10,” Ned told the woman behind the counter. After they paid and got to the little bench and locker area, he said, “If this is too weird or anything, please say no, but I’d enjoy putting yours on for you. Taking them off for you in public would be kinda...much. Happy medium.”

“Sure.” They’d arrived as soon as the rink opened, and it was going to be pretty quiet for the next hour or so. John was less worried about appearances these days.

“I like taking care of you,” Ned said softly as he knelt on the floor and slipped the first skate on. He tied the laces symmetrically, double-knotting them and making sure the tension was even.

“Has it occurred to you that if you whisper-narrated this you could probably make really popular ASMR videos?” John asked, to not think too hard about how some blushes were nice. 

Second skate, just as careful. “Only if you were modelling for me.” He put his own skates on in less than an efficient minute.

They got out on the ice. “We haven’t done this in awhile,” John said, clinging to a railing. 

“Just a big circle around. No tricks. You’ve done it.”

“I know, but hello fear of slipping, my old friend…”

"I can’t promise I can catch you if you fall, but I can steady you if you wobble.”

***

DEC 27

“What are you putting in that flat rate box?” John asked Missy.

She’d been sitting at the dining table and facing away from his bedroom, and she jumped a bit at his question. She turned around. “Little gift parcel for Jamie. We still talk sometimes. Like, covertly. Mostly through in-game MMO chat, actually, because it’s really hard to trace. Email when we don't need instant messaging. I won’t tell him where we are unless you say it’s okay. He doesn’t even know I’m with you. Junior’s a lost cause. Pretty sure he hates us. Jamie was just confused about your supposed criminal deeds and willful abandonment, and convinced that maybe you’d change your ways and come back someday.”

Missy's big sister influence had been major on Jamie, since he was so young when their mother died. Jamie had mild brain damage from his fall as a small child and needed a lot of neurological and physical therapy, so he’d never been packed off to boarding school like John and Junior had. He’d stayed at home with various degrees of special needs schooling vs. tutoring vs. eventual normal schooling, living at home with Missy (their father wanted her to have a good education, but girls apparently didn’t need something super premium). 

John took a seat. “Where are you going to send it?” He felt guilty about not telling Jamie, but whenever he thought about the remotest possibility that it would get back to their father, he wanted to crawl under his bed and stay there for a week. Their father supposedly never wanted to see him again, but he wanted Missy back. And he’d be angry that she’d found John and was living with him. 

“His campus mailbox. Israel’s going to help me send it untraceably. He’s on a swimming scholarship, so here’s a new pair of goggles, and he needs lots of carbs for that, so here’s some dried pasta that looks like tiny space rockets.” Missy glanced up to make sure John was okay before continuing. “He wants to be an elementary school teacher. Let me reiterate that his accident and your lengthy lack of contact with him DO NOT MAKE YOU A BAD PERSON, Jesus Christ on a pogo stick, Jack, I can see your gears turning.”

The idea of Jesus Christ on a pogo stick snapped him out of his little guilt-sinkhole. “Our father’s going to be upset about Jamie’s choice.”

“I think that’s the other reason he’s more skeptical of Dad’s authority. I’m glad he’s got a scholarship. Junior’s at Harvard Law. Perfect son. Anyway. Here’s a little bundle of worry dolls for him to tell his worries to and stick under his pillow, so they’ll absorb his worries. I got them at the National Museum of the American Indian gift shop - special exhibit concentrating on Central America. This is a toothbrush, to go with the candy. And here’s a bunch of pamphlets on why he should stop chewing tobacco.”

“He what?” John couldn’t help but imagine someone selling a middle-schooler a tobacco product, even though he knew Jamie was about Pierre’s age.

“He doesn't smoke, out of fear it would mess with his lungs, and therefore athletics. But oral cancer's no joke!" Missy looked at his face again. “Wanna try one of those DVDs I got you?”

“Please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was actually contemplating the last section that compelled me to start the new fic "All These Years".
> 
> Refresher: Timothy Pickering was the Secretary of State who sent Dr. Edward Stevens to serve as ambassador-equivalent to Haiti. He was a major proponent of the "Stevens and Hamilton are brothers" theory.
> 
> Most Noodles & Co dishes are vegetarian by default, and you pay extra for your choice of meat to be added. They're a chain with lots of branches in northern Virginia. Not a fancy date place, a comfy grab-lunch place.
> 
> Where I went to college, the psychology department periodically sent out a call for anyone who might like to adopt any leftover rats which had been trained to press buttons and run mazes and so on by undergrads.


	33. The Remainder of December II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for non-detailed mentions of past:  
> \- Alcoholism  
> \- Transmisogyny  
> \- Pressure to "cure" intersex features  
> \- Non-specific, general self-harm  
> \- Bad drunken decisions

DEC 28

"I feel like every time I'm on your doorstep, I'm in distress and disarray," Alexander said as he carefully, yet dramatically, swooned onto the living room couch. Missy was gone on a two-night trip to see old friends, which also meant John was carless, but the bus stop was a short walk away and it was easy to get to the nearest Metro station from there if you were willing to deal with the long bus ride. 

"I'm glad to provide safe harbor, QP. You survived the Schuyler dinner!" John went ahead and heated up a mug of cider for each of them. He had been low-key noticing for a year now how similar Alexander and Ned's tastes in food and beverages were. 

Alexander groaned from out of John's line of sight. "She has brothers, John! I vaguely knew about them, but it was like meeting Bigfoots or something. Bigfeet? In terms of them feeling like folklore, I mean, not in terms of manners or hairiness or something. They were nice, but they had all these questions, and Angelica kept everything discreet but she has all these knowing glances and I feel like she's studying me sometimes, like if she was reading a transcription of what I was saying she'd be analyzing down to the punctuation. She was good about shielding me from getting really embarrassed or triggered when I was dying inside as we wined and dined, though. Peggy was fun, confided in me about all the furor back when she broke up with Stephen and came out as "I dunno, but maybe girls too." Their mom gave me a monogrammed Christmas sweater a la the Weasleys and Harry Potter, and apologized for not knitting it herself. Then Philip Schuyler, stonefaced, called me into his study."

"Urgh," John said sympathetically. He nudged Alexander into a sitting position so he could drink, and also so John could sit next to him. 

"I'm trying not to cry, right, like this might mean we're through, and it turns out he's put the pieces together because usually Eliza has this adorable weakness for spiked eggnog, and also he's met me several times over the years because he's friends with G-Wash and apparently this makes my body language obvious? But he asked me if I was willing to marry her if she wanted to, and I said yes, of course, I'd asked but she wasn't up for it just yet, and he shook my hand, said he believed it to be true. This is really hot, John, were you trying to boil it?"

John shrugged. "I like my hot drinks like I like my men. Scalding when drunk."

Alexander snorted, thankfully not while sipping. "I love how your formerly understated sass has been blooming since it stopped being smothered in depression."

"Much of the time." 

"I like my coffee like I like my queerplatonic partners. Just sweet enough to take the edge off their true darkness."

"You're getting too real on me."

They sat in comfortable silence for a bit, then Alexander sighed. "I'm having lunch with Bio-Dad tomorrow. I've started calling him that. He doesn't seem to know whether to laugh or cry when I do, which I think is perfect for our new dynamic. Just the two of us. Gonna visit the Washingtons the day after, because they've been my most-of-all parents."

"You should definitely give lots of love to your most-of-all parents. Then New Year's Eve double date?" John regretted not bringing a spoon for stirring, but it was like not wanting to get up because a cat was happily on his lap. Not that Alexander was draped on his lap. Yet. 

His phone pinged. John glanced at Alexander to nonverbally ask if it was rude. Alexander gave him a thumbs-up.

CHEV:  
_Hey, remember when you told me that if I was ever near your place and couldn't find a bathroom I felt comfortable using..._

John texted permission and his address, in case Chev had forgotten, and the code to get into the building. He told Alexander, who grinned and sat up straighter. "Neat! I've been hoping to meet them in person, and they'll get to enjoy your reaction to my present for you."

Chev showed up a few minutes later, with a backpack and violin case. They were presenting as male, down to artfully done near-beard stubble. They took off their coat and hung it on a wall peg, and toed off their black Converse sneakers without undoing the laces. "Thanks so much. I had a few errands to do in which quote-on-quote 'Charlie' would have an easier time - got champagne for New Year's and got carded, for example - but I'm off to visit someone who's only known a nice young lady who needed a safe place to sleep a few years ago. Need to switch. I'm not up for explaining that to strangers today.

John knew Chev successfully changed their legal first name to Charles-Genevieve at 18, but their official paperwork all matched their chromosomes and there was no good way to legally fix that. "Be my guest. Alexander's here, by the way. Hope you don't mind."

"No, not at all." Chev put down their stuff and approached Alexander. "Handshake or hug?"

"Hug." 

"I want to thank you again for your help," Chev said, arms aound him.

Alexander patted their back. "You were the one who rose up. I just organized some information. Wouldn't have done any good if you hadn't been so MacGuyver about summoning rescue."

The hug over, Chev snapped their fingers. "Oh, I need to text Yelisaveta's granddaughter to confirm I'm on my way. I chucked my phone in my backpack a sec ago, gotta dig for it."

John and Alexander couldn't help but watch as Chev opened their bag and pulled out a small purse, a folded and plastic-wrapped push-up bra, cosmetics in a medium Ziploc bag, a Swiss army knife, a sandwich in a little Ziploc bag, a compass/mini flashlight/magnifying glass combo, a mysterious and opaque zippered pouch, a short skirt, tights, a butterfly knife, a mini sewing kit, a mini first-aid kit, a half-eaten package of dried apricots, what looked like a money clip holding together a currency that was not dollars, sunglasses, a lighter, wet wipes, and a water bottle.

"I should have checked inside the handbag, in case I put it away neatly rather than chucking it." Chev muttered. There it was. A can of pepper spray and a folding knife fell out, too. John could imagine how being abducted two months ago might lead to taking certain precautions. 

Alexander and John exchanged gifts while Chev was repacking everything they didn't immediately need. John had gotten Alexander a necktie with what appeared to be an abstract pattern on casual glance, but turned out to be covered in tiny unicorns when examined closely. Alexander had crocheted John a cloth checkers set out of joined-up tiny granny squares and little red and black discs for pieces. Chev said "Aww," to both.

Then they took all the clothing and cosmetics, as well as the mysterious pouch, into the bathroom. Meanwhile Alexander inquired after the cookies he and Ned had made, and he and John decided to should finish them for the greater good. 

After less than ten minutes, Chev emerged without stubble, wearing ear cuffs that looked like earrings if you didn't know their ears weren't pierced, a simple charm necklace, tights, skirt, and with a faint sheen of lip gloss and light contouring around their cheeks to soften the angles. They were wearing the same pullover as earlier, but had donr something (safety pins?) to make it more form-fitting, and tugged the neckline down to make the most of their cleavage. There was also a soft leather wrap bracelet to conceal the scar around their right wrist. They didn't change their voice - thanks to the estrogen overload in puberty, their voice had never dropped below the octave in which tenor is not particularly distinguishable from alto. They carried their folded jeans, sports bra, and makeup back into the living room.

"This was the year-ish I spent as a homeless street musician, till my parents' desire for me to pick a biological sex and binary gender stopped being so justified-paranoia-inducing," Chev said lightly as they put the remaining items in the bag. "I was hanging around the food court where she worked, hoping for leftovers. No way she would have let me live with her in exchange for chores if she'd interpreted me as other than a cis woman. But she's sick, and she always liked my Tchaikovsky renditions. I'd stay longer, but visiting hours are short today, and between work, class, and relatively new relationship, most of the time I'm so busy that..."

"Of course. It was nice to see you anyway," John said. Alexander exchanged contact info with them, and Chev was sure to hug John goodbye. Their coat looked more femme when belted and with the collar folded down. On their way out, they began a phone call in which they told someone they'd had a very successful morning despite challenges and was off on a personal matter, but they should have been warned beforehand about Mrs. Habsburg...

"Was it just me, or did they have weird stains on their hands when they first walked in?" Alexander asked.

"I wasn't looking."

"Pierre said they got their new part-time job right after their super-impressive escape efforts, right? Something about data entry? Data collection?"

"Something like that." John found a nice overlap on the couch with Alexander, keeping the remote nearby in case of wanting to watch stuff later. "Tell me more about the Schuyler misters."

***

DEC 29

Housework, exercise, and reading.

***

DEC 30

John woke up and wished he hadn't.

He had to get up and wished he didn't.

He made himself eat and wished he needn't.

His meds sometimes left him wanting, and he wished they wouldn't.

He decided to go into the office to check if the potted plants were okay, as Dr. Suriyaren said it was always worth seeing if a change of scenery and a little walking around might help the depression. He was pleased that she had the opportunity to go visit family so far away, but three weeks without therapy was turning out to be less than ideal.

Missy wouldn't be home till tonight, so he took the bus and then the subway. Lewis had promised that inverted, closed plastic bottles with tiny holes poked in them would be a perfectly adequate watering system, but it was still good to check. It was a solid, simple, well-defined mission that would keep him safely occupied for awhile.

Except the office was already occupied. Lewis was in a fetal position on the floor of the outer room, rubbing something that looked like a poker chip between two of his fingers. It took John a moment to figure out that it had to be his treasured Alcoholics Anonymous token.

"Hi," John said quietly, not wanting to startle him.

"Hi John," Lewis said, sounding like he did on a normal morning when he wasn't red-eyed and in a ball on a carpet that frankly needed a vacuum. "Come in and close the door, if you like."

"I'm checking on the plants."

"Good idea."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Do you want to hear it?"

"Yes, in a sec." John went around both the inner and outer office to check, and found that the African violets Sacagawea had given him were the only plants that looked too dry. He dealt with that and flopped on the floor near Lewis.

"This is my six-year medallion, and the only reason I haven't thrown it away is that my sponsor talked me out of it."

"Did you slip?" John asked, mostly facing the ceiling, looking at Lewis from the corner of his eye.

"Clark and I went to a get-together with some friendly acquaintances we both knew. I thought it was punch made of just sherbert and Sprite and a bit of pineapple juice, until suddenly everyone seemed so much nicer, and I got so much wittier and I wasn't tense or nervous anymore. I thought to myself, clearly I'm better and can handle myself now, I've been perfectly behaved for years since my last little accident. Because inebriated me refers to a bender that leads to indecent exposure charges as a 'little accident'. I don't tell everyone I'm an alcoholic, when really maybe I should. You don't stop being one, you know. You just stop feeding it, if you're strong enough." 

"I know multiple people who've slipped on self-harm issues lately," John said.

"Mm. Also, in strictest confidence, during the party, I made out with Clark again. In our host's study. He continues to insist that he's straight."

"That's bullshit. Like maybe he's mostly straight, but he shouldn't dismiss you like that. Also, it's still skeevy if you were both drunk, but -"

"We were. We had different designated drivers."

"I know a bit about that," John said. 

"Shit, sorry, I forgot." Lewis had been in group therapy with him the day John shared how he'd originally become estranged from Martian, though without using her name.

"Not triggered yet, just need to stop before I am."

"Sure." Lewis glanced at John before continuing. "I'm waiting until I feel better before I approach him. Assuming I do. On previous occasions we've just acted like it didn't happen. Can't be attracted to people I'm not close to, but can I be close to people and not become attracted? Could I? Could the universe and my fucking brain just give me a bit of a break?"

John turned to look at him more fully. He didn't feel qualified to give Lewis advice, but there was one thing he was the only authority on, and this was the time to say it. "Does it help if I tell you I'm not scared of you anymore?"

There was a long pause. 

"Yes, it does." 

"Good."

Lewis tossed his chip in the air and caught it again. "Six years sober, more or less. Three decades a mess. I was a reasonably well-adjusted toddler."

"Some of my best friends are messes."

"Mine too, though not Sacagawea. She's my token non-mess friend. Otter describes herself as 'quirky', but she's got terrible taste in not-boyfriends, so." Lewis tossed his chip again, caught it in his other hand this time, and got to his feet. "Enough. Listen. The National Museum of National History is open, and it won't cost us to go if we skip the cafeteria. They've got a skeleton-heavy special exhibit right now, and frankly, you need more practice when it comes to drawing pelvises."

John also got to his feet. "Do I, now?"

"They always turn out slightly crooked."

"Well, you, sir, can't draw foot bones of any species without messing up the proportions. I have to correct pretty much all of them."

"I categorically deny this. Get your field sketchbook from the cupboard and I'll grab mine. I demand satisfaction."

"You're on."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've mentioned a bunch of this in Three Days Already, but for convenience and for people reading by series order and not publication/timeline order:
> 
> The Chevalier d'Eon, during the part of d'Eon's life when d'Eon worked as a supposedly male spy for King Louis IV, was given the task of infiltrating Russian Empress Elizabeth/Yelisaveta's (non-food) court as a woman, at a time when only foreign women and children were allowed to freely enter Russia, not men. Yelisaveta was in on it - she needed to bypass those in government who did not approve of the alliance she wanted to build with France. She retained this undercover secret agent as a Maid of Honour, similar to a Lady-in-Waiting, for several months.
> 
> Much later, during d'Eon's female-presenting years, d'Eon unsuccessfully proposed that d'Eon muster and lead an all-female army to fight the Habsburgs. In this story, Habsburg is a code word, ya dig me?
> 
> Further chapter inspiration:  
> Historical Meriwether Lewis had a serious, career-disrupting alcohol problem which was less pronounced when adventuring, sometimes slept on hard surfaces and wrapped in buffalo skins after returning to civilization, and some believe his letters suggest a tragic unrequited crush on Clark because SAD NATURE DUDE AHHHHH.
> 
> Final, embarrassing confession: I get really anxious until a chapter receives a comment, checking over and over and with little voices in my head telling me I've finally indulged myself too much and beaten the subject to death and nobody wants to read it anymore except for my Complicated, that I should be writing 'real stuff' or maybe this is a signal that I'm wasting time that should be spent getting papers graded faster or getting more sleep or whatever. I don't agree, but it gets hard arguing sometimes. I love writing this series, feel itchy when I don't update, but consistently loathe myself for spending so much time on it. After at least one comment, I'm fine again. If I were currently able to see a therapist, I'd definitely talk about that. I'm now anxious about telling you this and sounding needy or pathetic, but maybe if there were ever a set of readers who might have empathy for such issues, you folks might be it. Perhaps?


	34. Double-Date New Year's Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because this series has a tradition of dreams and flashbacks being in present tense regardless of the rest of the story, and because series time as outstripped real time, we have an odd situation here in which NYE 2016 is in past tense but NYE 2015 is in present tense. Consider it arty and roll with it, please. XD
> 
> A reader has started a TV tropes page for this AU! Check it out here, and please feel free to add/edit things if that's your jam. I don't want to add stuff myself because it would make me feel egotistical, but ahhh it's wonderful. 
> 
> http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Fanfic/TimeOutOfMind

NEW YEAR'S EVE, 2016

"No."

"But Eliza..."

"I said no, because - oh, hello John and Ned. I already ordered an appetizer to share, if that's alright. Alexander said you'd both probably like the bruschetta here." Eliza’s many blue dresses always made her look like a scrap of sunny sky.

Ned helped John with his coat. "Alexander's right. What are you telling my brother not to do?"

"No need to sound like you're taking her side sight unseen, yeesh. I asked if she'd be okay with me casually seeing Maria. No strings." Alexander squirmed under Ned's cool gaze. "We had a meeting about the fundraiser. She took me aside and offered."

Eliza put a gentle, but firm hand on top of Alexander's jittering one. "And when he asked me on the way here, I said no."

"Wait, Med Tech Maria? From Vernon? I agree that nooooooooo." John picked up his menu to scan it. They'd thought about doing something more exciting than just dinner, but John and Alexander were low on spoons, Eliza was low on sleep, and Ned would have been happy spending time with the other three in a cramped elevator - as long as they could get out again, of course.

"I've not met Maria, but I thought your guys' arrangement was that Eliza can veto you adding new people, no questions asked."

"I ask questions about everything," Alexander replied lamely. Sometimes John thought that learning he was Ned's younger brother had made Alexander ever-so-slightly more deferential to Ned and squirmy from his judgment. But he needed more data. 

"As I was about to say before you two gentlemen joined us, first off I share a social group and workplace with Maria, which would make me uncomfortable, and more importantly, she is not in a good emotional place when it comes to romance or sex and I can't let you ruin each other. Understood?"

The spectre of James Reynolds floated through the room (John was pretty sure he was alive, just in jail for domestic violence charges as well as the extortion stuff, but the metaphor held), and it looked like Alexander got a chill from it. He bit his lip. "Yes, ma'am."

"Is this going to be a problem if you continue to be in charge of Theodosia's fundraiser's finances? Is there going to be a conflict?"

"I don't think so."

"Let me know if there will be, and we'll adjust."

Alexander nodded, contrite, and leaned his head on her shoulder for a moment. "Yes, ma'am. Why are you beaming, John?"

"Sorry. It's just that all of us have come so far in a year."

Eliza let go of Alexander’s hand and rested her chin on both her hands like an excited kid. “I never got to hear what that night was like for you guys. Would you be up to telling the story of that night?”

John opened his mouth to answer, but then he looked down at the very long menu, and considered all the work it would take to figure out which things were vegetarian and which weren’t. It didn’t highlight vegetarian options in any way, unlike most. They’d chosen the restaurant based on location. Then the matter of what things he might like. Ned put on a hand on his leg. “I’ve been here before on work lunches and I’ll narrow it down for you, k? Nothing with celery, either.”

Dating someone who remembered John didn’t like celery was one of the things John never thought he’d get. “Yes, thank you. So, uh, I can only speak from my perspective, but…”

****

NEW YEAR'S EVE, 2015

The bowtie is a last-minute addition. Martian gave it to him when they were reunited, saying that all the members of her wedding party had a choice of matching bowties or matching brooches, and that they'd had extra of each just in case. She said she hoped it might give him luck.

The call to Lafayette is a last-minute necessity. He picks it up on the first ring, clearly expecting it, and listens to all of John's doubts. 

Then Lafayette says, "Let me tell you three fundamental things at the approximate same time. Number one: I've met Ned, and I can tell you now that even if Hammie is wrong and you two aren't perfect for each other, or whatever else he claims, Ned is soothing and warm company and used to far quotes-with-quotes 'worse' behavior than anything you could possibly manage over drinks and perhaps a dance. Number two: I saw you with Francis back when you were with him, and you showed yourself to be excellent romantic partner beyond your obvious handsomeness, wit, and intelligence. And you ended that relationship well, even exchanging letters after for a time, did you not? Number three: I know John Laurens like I know my own mind - you will never find anyone as earnest or as brave. Wear navy blue, brown, and cream if you can. You look well in those hues."

That helps. It's also nice in a way that Alexander and John pick Ned up on the way to the club rather than meeting him there, giving them some quiet minutes to break the ice first. Alexander consigns both of them to the backseat. He twists around and says, "Cool dude Ned, meet cool dude John. Be cool dudes in one another's presence. I'm going to shut up and drive."

"Will wonders never cease," Ned says wryly. 

"Fuck you," Alexander replies with a grin, pulling out of the parking lot.

"Defeat the purpose of setting me up with someone." Ned reaches out and takes John's outstretched hand like it's made of painstaking craftsmanship. Ned's got calluses, but his fingernails are neatly trimmed and shaped. John becomes acutely aware of his hangnail and chewed edges. Instead of shaking, Ned just squeezes it briefly. "Thanks for keeping an eye on that rascal for a bit, and even more for agreeing to this."

John feels fluttery, and isn't ashamed. "I'm sure you can make it worth my while." 

Ned doesn’t say much at a time, and he seems to prefer nudging John to talk. When John runs out of steam though, Ned says something that’s slightly related to the conversation to get them going again, closing that frightening gulf before John’s insecurity can start smothering him. 

“Do you know any obscure animal verbs? For example, guinea pigs ‘wheek’ when they’re excited, and young male springbok ‘pronk’ when the grass is plentiful. My Googling for more hasn’t paid off.”

“I have a playlist of songs I don’t like on their own merits, but they act as bookmarks to good memories. Maybe tonight you can help me take notes on what they play.” (To which Alexander crows, ‘Smooth!’ and Ned asks if he’s going back on the ‘shut up and drive’ pledge he’d made.)

“There’s a computer game involving the Avengers in which you can make Captain America do the Charleston dance on loop.”

By the time they arrive there and grab a table in a corner, John doesn’t mind Alexander running off in search of dance partners. It’s pretty startling later on when Angelica waves. It’s even more startling when Eliza waves. It nearly throws John off his game when Alexander runs over to check to see they’re okay and gushes, “My life is fine when Eliza’s in it, oh wow, I don’t care if nothing comes of it, this will just be a shining moment to treasure forever. Ooh, Ned, your drink has an umbrella, can I have the umbrella later?”

“If you love this girl, go get her.” Ned makes a shooing motion. 

It’s hard for John not to mention Missy, with whom he’s figuring out how to live with - she needs a roommate, he needs to live closer to DC, they need to keep an eye on each other - and that means stumbling onto his family issues. John’s words falter. Ned doesn’t say anything. He takes John’s hand and lightly rubs his thumbs over the knuckles. 

“Wanna dance?” John says after a taut, trembling while.

“I’m only good at dancing if it’s choreographed.”

“What if I led you?”

“Lead thou me on.”

Some guy follows them off from the dance floor the first time they take a break, huffs that this isn’t a gay bar. John is about to sock him in the jaw (at an angle that wouldn’t knock out his teeth or break it, just cause swelling, he knows punching and anatomy like he knows the back of his fist), but Ned puts his hand on the small of John’s back. It’s like picking up a kitten by the scruff of the neck. All the fight goes out of him. The loud sounds all around them become distant and meaningless. He amiably accepts Ned’s suggestion of some drink or other that John’s never had before. 

(In his peripheral vision, he thinks he sees Angelica chewing that guy out, but that would suggest she’d appointed herself John’s guardian, and he’s not sure how he feels about that.)

John mistimes it and is in the bathroom when midnight hits. When he gets back, Ned is gathering up their things and they set off to find Alexander. He feels a little disappointed and foolish. Alexander talks a lot on the way back, Eliiiiiiiizaaaaa, Eliiiiiiiiizaaaaaaaaaaa, Eliza kissed him ELIIIIIIZAAAAAAAAAAAAA. “Don’t worry, Thom has compersion in spades. He’ll be happy I actually did something after talking her up ever since I got out of Vernon.”

They stop at Ned’s building, and Ned says, “Thanks, Alexander. That was really fun. Maybe call me, John?”

“Yeah, sure.” John feels like he’s just gotten out of a lovely hot bath and can’t find a towel.

Ned looks at John for a moment, face blank, and gets out of the car. Alexander twists. “You and I, do or die.”

“It’s not that simple.” Alexander is looking at him. Francis is in Geneva. The gun is buried in Lafayette’s backyard. 

Then John sees that Ned has left his right glove on the seat. Only one glove. It had to be intentional. He holds it up.

Alexander leans in so close that their foreheads are practically touching. “Laurens, do not throw away your shot.”

The gun is buried in Lafayette’s backyard, and he could have worn this bowtie to a wedding, and Francis is in Geneva, and Missy is back, and Alexander is looking at him.

John flings the door open and runs out. He slows it to a walk when he gets close to Ned. “Cinderella, you’re lucky I don’t suffer from face-blindness.”

Ned laughs. “My favorite Cinderella is from Into the Woods. She…”

“Leaves the shoe behind on purpose?”

“To see if the prince will come after her.”

“I would certainly hope you’re sober enough to have gotten in by now, normally.” John’s quite close now.

“Different ways to be intoxicated.” Ned does not reach out for the glove. He looks down, albeit at John’s shoes rather than his own. “Wasn’t told details, but given where you met Himself, I know you’ve got baggage. Not all or nothing, with me. FYI. However much.”

The gun is buried in Lafayette’s backyard, and he will gladly join the fight. 

John takes off his own right glove, and puts on Ned’s. He hands Ned his. Ned raises an eyebrow but obediently completes the swap. Then John pulls on the lapels of Ned’s coat and kisses him, because the gun is dead and because John is alive, and this is what it is to want again.

“I’ll be wanting that glove back,” John murmurs as he untangles himself. Ned sneaks a few more kisses onto John’s cheeks and forehead, eager but not demanding. 

When John glides back to the car, Alexander is lost in thought. “Did you?” he asks quietly.

John gets into the front passenger seat. “Yeah. Yeah, we did. Kinda wanna bask before discussing.”

“Sure.” Alexander starts the car. “As for Eliza, it’s not so much her job, really. It’s that I’m not good enough for her.”

“Let her decide that.”

Alexander acts like he hasn’t heard John. “Funny thing is, her dad and G-Wash are friends, right? So I vaguely knew of her years ago. It made an impression on me to know that my foster dad’s friend had an adopted daughter who everyone adored. When I eventually met her, I was like, yup, only sane reaction. If I thought I could be what she deserved, I would put away my ambition and my pride for her, I swear. And she would smile. And that would be enough.”

***

“Wait, did you actually say that?” Eliza asked Alexander.

“I think you’ll like this fettucine dish,” Ned told John, pointing. “Also, you’re more Cinderella by now than I am.”

“You’re the heroine of ‘The Black Bull of Norroway’,” John said absently. “She goes through a lot of crap to rescue her love. Are there caramelized onions? Those are okay, but not my favorite.”

“No, the onions are just sauteed.”

“Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Everyone stared at Eliza in surprise. Including Alexander. He blinked several times and then said, “I thought you didn’t think I was ready.”

“That’s not what I said. I said I couldn’t know yet if you were ready to marry me for my sake rather than for the baby’s -”

“Flipper.”

“We are not calling our child ‘Flipper’.”

“As a nickname! It’s gender neutral and adorable! Philip, Philippa, Flip, Flipper.”

“Xander, she’s trying to accept your proposal.” Ned looked like he was trying not to laugh.

“Sorry, sometimes I get overexcited, shoot off at the mouth…”

Eliza stroked his hair. “Yes, dearest, we know. And now I know what I know - that you would have done it for me, without any cartoon dolphin children - and my answer is yes, I will marry you. I want to wait until after Phil or Pippa is born, so that they or anyone else will never have cause to think they’re the only reason we married, and so that everyone can see what a wonderful father you are because you WANT to be, but I will.” 

(Alexander was sufficiently thrilled to make it until dessert before informing her that Flipper was a live-action dolphin, not an animated one.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Many thanks to Koramberlynne, who alerted me to the existence of Francis Kinloch, with whom historical Laurens studied during his younger days at a fancy school in Geneva. There is very strong evidence that they were a thing. This being historical JL, it's bittersweet at best. Go back last chapter and look at the comment thread for more info. 
> 
> \- The Black Bull of Norroway is one of the very few traditional European fairytales in which the heroine does all the saving. Tolkien uses it in his essay "On Fairy Stories" as an example of an emotional climax rather than a plot climax, when the heroine is trying to wake her love from a drugged sleep and sings, "Seven years I worked for thee, the glassy hill I climbed for thee, the bloody shirt I wrung for thee, wilt thou not waken and turn to me?" And he does. 
> 
> (I'm also a fan of "Lady Isobel's Knight", one of the very few in which the heroine dispatches the villain herself, by tricking him so she can shove him off a cliff into the sea.)


	35. What You Said Yesterday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween. The only scary thing about this was when I thought too hard about what I was doing.

“Because Alexander is being ridiculously productive, as he is when he’s feeling well, the fundraiser for Theodosia Burr’s going to be this Saturday after all.” John was going through the snail mail that had accumulated during their time off. Including some of Lewis’ personal mail. Still not quite used to that.

Lewis noticed him eyeing the separate little stack. He himself was watching raw footage of a short documentary he’d been asked to do a voiceover for, on mute, so that later in the studio with the helpfully formatted script, he could properly emote the words. “Nothing from Andre, I promise.”

John laughed. “I appreciate the reassurance. Anyway, if you have any interest in coming, you can be a spectator for a minimum donation of $5. I’m not into bowling myself, but I’ll be cheering people on. There’ll be raffles for stuff too, like one of Betsy’s handmade quilts, or there’s this guy named Gouverneur Morris who works in Admin apparently, and he’ll paint the G-rated message of your choice onto his current prosthetic leg. He’s getting a new one in August.”

“That sounds fun. And worthwhile, of course. I’m meeting up with my old AA sponsor for coffee that day, but buy me however many tickets for that particular prize that I can get for $20, if you would.” Lewis took out his wallet and handed John the cash. “Oh, speaking of being proactive about my issues, um. Could you look up for me some reputable organizations that might be interested in and gain benefit from me affiliating myself with them for the purposes of publicly, explicitly coming out as dyslexic? Sometime later this year?”

“Yes. Definitely.” John was also going to get Lewis taken off several junk mail lists, because wow, the situation was appalling.

“J.B.’s been having a tough time reading. He’s well within the bounds of what is considered normal, but he’s frustrated, and he said he felt stupid. I told him I’m not great at reading either, which led to a long discussion that I would have loved to have with someone when I was a kid. Not the only reason but somewhat of an impetus. I’m not a hundred percent certain I’m up for this, and I want to get some other stuff sorted out before I take the plunge, but getting the lay of the land would make it less intimidating to think about.” Lewis ran his fingers through his hair and looked sheepish about saying something touching.

Before John could formulate non-awkward praise and encouragement, the outer office door buzzed. “I’ll get it.”

It was William Clark, whom John had previously only met in passing. He currently looked like big mass of tentativeness. “Good morning. Is he here?”

“No!” Lewis shouted from the inner office. “How’s that for mixed messages, huh? Since you’re such a big fan of those?”

“Five minutes or less. Hear me out. Please.”

The sound of what might have been Lewis thumping the table. “John, what do you think?”

“I can time the five minutes if that’d make you feel better,” John suggested.

Clark didn’t bother taking his coat off. He followed John into the inner room. John took out his phone and started the timer, because boundaries are important. Lewis didn’t turn to face Clark. He took an imperious sip of coffee.

“I’m sorry,” Clark began.

“You know how if you write or say a word or phrase over and over and over it starts to look fake? That’s where you are right now with that.”

“I thought about what you said yesterday.”

“I said a lot of things yesterday, at varying volume.”

“Sacagawea gave me an earful and then made me read a bunch of Tumblr posts.”

Lewis digested this. “Oh?”

“There was a lot of stuff about how romantic and sexual orientations sometimes don’t match up, and that they don’t have to. And it seems my ex-wife’s moved on. She has a tumblr too, I learned. Pretty sure it’s her. She complains about her son having her ex’s best friend’s ‘stupid name’, and the posts about visitation weekends match up time wise. But that’s not the point...”

“Oh?” Lewis turned.

Clark stepped closer. “The thing you said that I was thinking about was when you said desire won’t necessarily ruin us, but dishonesty definitely will.”

John wondered if he should remind the two that he was still there, but the moment was a fragile bubble he didn’t want to burst. He stopped the timer.

The wheels on Lewis’ chair squeaked as he wheeled a tiny bit closer. “And?”

“Turns out there’s this combination called, I think it’s heteromantic bisexual?”

Lewis’ eyes darted towards John. “Remember we’re not alone.”

“Good. That way you can see I’m not ashamed to do this.” Clark leaned down. He didn’t kiss his friend on the lips, which would have had more romantic connotations (unless they skipped straight into getting tongues involved, John supposed). Instead, he tipped Lewis' chin up and sideways, and carefully kissed his pulse point, right where neck met jaw.

John was a good PA and a good friend, and so he would never speak of the faint high-pitched noise Lewis made at that. Especially since Lewis then said, “John, I, uh, I bet you could get that research I requested done at home. If you felt so inclined. No rush. See you tomorrow?”

In record time, John was out the door. Maybe he take the Metro and walk around the touristy parts of DC a bit. Work on ideas for showing Jane and Martian around.

That evening, John got a text that said, “If I win, the message is O the Joy!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm starting to tidy my subplots now. It's funny, I'm sure plenty of people have written these two as a pairing in some way, and there is arguable historical evidence for queer Lewis, and it's not like I don't have lots of other same-sex pairings, but for some reason I kept briefly freezing up in the act of writing this. But I don't regret it. Don't regret, can't forget what I did for love. 
> 
> More on Morris, among other things Congressman and physical scribe of the Constitution, who incidentally had a peg leg, later on. Many thanks to RandomFandom5 for the suggestion!
> 
> "O the Sea! O the Joy!" is quoted on one of the special nickels that commemorate the Expedition, from when they finally made it to the Pacific. I can't remember offhand which of them said it.
> 
> ***
> 
> I just realized the coincidence with the chapter number. Huh. Here, though, there's honesty and help and hope.


	36. The Bowling Tournament

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very upset (I don't want to talk about why), and it's kind of amazing that I was able to push aside my unhealthy ways to react to that by promising myself that I could write this chapter instead. That's what this series does for me.
> 
>  
> 
> psst don't forget to check out, maybe even add to, the new tvtropes page
> 
> http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Fanfic/TimeOutOfMind

James Madison of The Pinball Wizards (the team of former First Floor Men’s Ward patients) was up. Except he merely walked up to the lane, and a small boy darted ahead of him and set the ball in place. “Am I standing right, Jemmy?”

“Perfect.”

Dolley leaned over and whispered to John, “James could actually handle the ball himself if he wore gloves, but Payne really wanted to help.”

“That’s adorable. Why does Payne call him ‘Jemmy’?”

“When James and I first started dating, we promised him that he didn’t have to call a new person ‘Daddy’.”

Soon Dolley went to circulate further among the team members, fundraiser organizers, staff, and audience. 

The event wasn’t a surprise to Theodosia, because Eliza had to consult with her about the sorts of help that would be welcome, but they’d made it a surprise for Aaron. He was currently sitting in a folding chair next to the comfy one they’d found for Theodosia, looking mildly shell-shocked but not in a bad way. Tweenage Martha “Patsy” Jefferson, Jr. was being paid twenty-five dollars to follow little Theo around and make sure she didn’t get into trouble during the event. John noticed a moment where Patsy physically blocked her father’s line of sight towards Sally, about to bowl for the Freudian Splits. And raised her eyebrows. Thomas bit his lip and turned to go chat with Dolley instead.

The Pinball Wizards were made up of James, Thomas, Friedrich, Voltaire, and two guys who hadn’t overlapped with John. There was Robert, who had a Scottish accent and a pin saying ALCOHOLIC (presumably so nobody would offer him the beer that you could buy here and so you would smack it out of his hand if you saw him with it), and Fritz, who had a German one. Interesting. 

The Techs Mix were ahead (Cato was phenomenal) though John didn’t really understand the scoring system or how the various things they were doing were generating money. That was fine. He was here to support people. 

Alexander tried to explain the whole money-generating thing, but he was in charge of the cash box and accounting, and so he was writing like he was running out of time. Other people periodically handed Alexander more money to add to the pile.

“Every second the Treasury grows,” Doctor Wash said cheerfully as he brought over some more cash. “Tench wants five tickets for the ‘Psychiatrist Break Room Microwave Swap’ prize.”

“What prize is that again?” John asked.

“Whoever wins it gets to dictate who the psychiatrist’s break room has to swap microwaves with, because ours is the fanciest.”

“Isn’t Tench an outside consultant on BPD and complex PTSD?” Alexander asked, counting out the money and sorting it properly. He gave Doctor Wash the five tickets. 

“His office break room has a microwave.”

“I think that’s cheating.”

“He’s also my best friend,” the ever-so-dignified George Washington said, winking.

"George's been oddly chipper ever since Eliza and I started telling people we’re having a kid,” Alexander said after his former foster father left. Alexander had started calling him ‘George’ again now that George King had significantly faded from their minds. “Doctor Morris’ prize is the most popular so far. I mean, who doesn’t want to make a guy wear a custom message on his prosthetic leg? I know for a fact that Thomas has bought fifteen entries to make it say some mild insult about me.”

“Oh dear.”

“It’s okay, I’ve bought twenty. Hey look, Doctor Warren’s trying to coach Paul Revere and John Hancock even though he's totally going to get in trouble. Doctor Warren is a psychiatrist exclusive to Men’s Second Floor, but those three all went to school together way back when or something. Brave guy. It’d be nice to see Hercules, but I guess he’s busy wedding planning.”

Pierre suddenly plunked himself into the empty chair next to Alexander where Eliza sat when she wasn’t off bringing gladness and peace to others. “Hi.”

“Oh hey, look at you,” Alexander said, while not looking up from his carefully itemized receipts. 

“Late present.” Pierre handed a multi-strand rainbow loom band bracelet to each of them, intricately knotted. “Been doing a lot of them, because turns out it's good for channeling tics.”

John slipped his on and gave Pierre a hug. “Friedrich brought you?”

“Yeah, though we’re not being touchy-feely here because it might stress Aaron out, make him remember when he caught us and so on. Got the free tip from Tench. Put me down for, for, for, for, six - carriage - tickets for the Morris leg thing. I know that - carriage - prize, you’re supposed to give contact info, but you have my contact…”

“Write it down anyway, just to help me stay organized, please.”

While Pierre was writing, he said, “Turns out Friedrich used to work for Fritz and recommended Vernon to him, isn’t that neat? Fritz’s partner Francesco is here, too. Too many F’s. Even worse, Fritz is a nickname for Frederick!”

“Great,” John said dryly. The circles he ran in did seem to have a lot of name repetitions.

“I knowwwww. They had a dinner party and Friedrich invited both me and Benjy and...here it is. Oh, I need to tell you something.”

Molly handed Alexander a fistful of cash, said, “Drinks,” and vanished again.

“That’s not very specific,” Alexander muttered. “Sorry, yes, what?”

“Friedrich and I are still in a relationship but no longer primary partners, and Chev and I are going to start living together in the fall. Chev has decided to try some other stuff rather than go to law school right away. It’s weird but it feels kinda, sorry, yes, natural.”

Alexander patted Pierre on the back. “If you both want it, don’t worry about one of the things being ‘better’, don’t you think? It’s not like getting a gold, silver, or bronze. It’s like getting an Oscar, a Grammy, or a Tony. Like maybe Friedrich has an Emmy in the category Pierre, but Chev has a Golden Globe in Pierre.” 

Chev appeared even more out of nowhere than Molly had. “It’s rude to speculate about people’s genitalia.”

Alexander started cracking up just as Pierre said, “What-the-my-goodness, Chev, when did you get here? Why are you here?”

“How could I stay away from so many interesting people in one place? Nice to see you both; we’ll be sure to invite you to our housewarming party - homewarming, whatever - but there’s someone who seems to know an awful lot about locks and lockpicking over there and he seems wary of me. Even when I said I think I may have met his father. I think I need an introduction. Why does he have a scar across the back of his neck?”

Pierre got up and took Chev’s hand, walking towards the former patient who was cheering on Doctor Wash. “Oh, that’s Louis, nearly-got-decapitated-Louis, I mean, not to be confused with…” 

“Chev’s covering up a bruise on their cheekbone with a lot of makeup,” Alexander observed absently. 

John decided there was very little risk of Pierre hitting Chev against their will, and shelved the matter. He went to say hi to Sybil and Deb, neither of whom he’d seen since the trial afterparty. “This is a super weird question, but I’m going to be playing tour guide and general support to a female-female couple soon, and I want to know if there’s anything I should be mindful of.”

“You’re so sweet,” Sybil said, grinning. She was wearing equestrian boots again. Seemed to live in those. 

“Cis gay guys do sometimes forget to check their privilege, so if I had a Decent Person Cookie to give you...anyway, are you literally hosting them in your home? No? Hm.” Deb thought about it. “Remember that they might not feel safe in all the places you do. I have dressed full Drag King because I wanted to go for a walk at two in the morning, I’m not kidding.”

“And for God’s sake, give them ample time if they need to use public bathrooms. When Peggy and I’ve gone on adventures with Israel and Cato, it’s like they’ve both got super urgent messages to pass onto someone and terrible things will happen if anyone notices them hanging around. Yeesh.”

John thanked them and moved on. He found Angelica mapping out the complicated tournament hierarchy on a piece of scrap paper. “Hi.”

“Hello, there, John. You look...maybe not a hundred percent happy, but vivacious.”

“Seems about right.”

“It’s a good look. If you see my husband and our kid around here, tell him that I couldn’t buy him wings that didn’t have any sauce on them, sorry.” Apparently all the standard snacks cost $1 extra today, with the $1 going to the fundraiser.

When John got back to Alexander’s spot, James was there instead. He was handling the cash with thin rubber gloves on. “Hi, John. Alexander wandered off. Dolley’s roped me in to double-check everything, since she says I’m patient and detail-oriented.”

“If you make a comparison to the TV show Monk, he gets real mad, though,” Thomas added, taking a seat. 

“Thomas, please turn your chair so it’s in alignment with the one next to it. Thank you.”

“Nice to see that you both have cute kids,” John offered, as safe territory. He wasn’t sure how chill the two of them and Alexander were with each other these days. The fact that Eliza and Dolley made a great team didn’t necessarily mean their significant others were all right with it. Well, Dolley’s significant other and Thomas. Alexander might be convinced that Thomas was to the Madisons (a possibly vanilla version of) what Pierre was to the du Motier de Lafayettes, but John wasn’t going to go there.

Thomas dissolved into sunshine. “Patsy just won a spelling bee yesterday.”

James paused and frowned. “Wait, hang on. This is weird.”

“You gotta be specific,” Thomas said leaning over to look.

“Alexander’s got some serious discrepancies in the amount of money he’s recorded and the amount that’s actually in this box. More than - it’s more than error would account for.”

Aaron had been drifting around thanking people, and he heard this and darted over. “Wait, what?”

“I don’t want to jump to conclusions…” James began.

“Bam, conclusion, where’s Alexander? He needs to explain himself. I’ll go find him.” Thomas got up, spotted Alexander at the very edge of the room, and made a beeline for him. “Mr. Hamilton, we know!”

“You know what?” Alexander asked, taken aback.

“Within the span of, like, two minutes, Thomas and James seem have reached the absurd conclusion that you’ve been embezzling, if that’s not too dramatic a word,” John said, feeling himself tense and his posture straighten again.

A hush fell on the whole room. Everyone’s eyes were on the trio.

Aaron went wide-eyed. “I thought I was your friend,” he said.

“Put what you’ve had aside,” Angelica said urgently. “Be logical here. What’s your evidence?”

“There’s a lot of money missing that should be here,” James began.

“And! You were gone from this room for a hella long time,” Thomas continued. “Where were you?”

“I don’t know anything about discrepancies in the financial records. I was…” Alexander took a deep breath. “I was in a janitor’s closet with Maria.”

Everyone looked at Eliza, still seated next to Theodosia, Missy, and Ramzi. She calmly said, “I have faith in you. You and your words. Use them.”

“I can’t. I promised.”

“You’ve got lipstick on your collar, Hamilton,” Thomas said.

“This is dumb and immature,” Theodosia said. “Someone go find Maria. Where is she? Alexander?”

“I don’t know.”

“Aaron, you two are friends. Go find her.”

“I don’t want to have to punch you with your daughter here, Thomas,” John said very quietly.

Chev managed to clear their throat in such a way that everyone looked at them. “I saw her go into the ladies’ room. I’ll go get her. If you have a problem with that, boo hoo.” They were dressed very head-tilt-androgynous today. 

“You’re such a wee timorous beastie, James,” Robert said in the following silence, sipping a Sprite with a look of disappointment. Voltaire held out a hand for a high five, which he did not receive. 

“I think you might be a bit premature, myself, James,” Dolley began.

Francesco said something in Italian and started giggling. Fritz shushed him. John couldn’t see Pierre or Friedrich anywhere.

Maria was practically stomping on her way back. “Okay, Alexander doesn’t get to talk about me. I get to talk about me. I hid in the janitor’s closet because I was _sobbing_ , and he heard me and came in and gave me a pep talk, and I _kissed his cheek_ and asked him not to share our private interaction. For crying out loud.”

It transpired that little Theo had somehow gotten an armload of the cash and had been scattering it in her wake around ‘backstage’, and that Patsy and Payne had been gathering it up and chasing after her. Sort of a backwards Hansel and Gretel thing.

Doctor Morris made a loud declaration about poor logic being a great disservice to innocent people, and there were some apologies, but things simmered down eventually. Aaron apologized the most profusely and ended up going to a corner to chat with Tench a bit.

Later Voltaire got in a shouting match with Fritz, but that had nothing to do with Alexander. They took it outside. 

“I am so sorry there was that ugly moment,” Missy said at the end of it all.

“Hey, we had some fun, and raised the money for the Burrs to not have to worry about cooking, cleaning, or lawn care while Theodosia recovers, and that’s the important thing,” Alexander said.

“And for Theo to have a babysitter when needed,” John added. 

“Yeah, haha, otherwise things’ll just float away with her.” Alexander turned to Eliza. “Thanks for having faith in me.”

“I once knew an Alexander who might have gone against my wishes, but you’re not that one.” Eliza kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have the spoons for my usual historical end notes right now. I might add them later, or I might just let you find what you can. I will tell you, though, that I included Robert Burns specifically so he could say that line.
> 
> Part of what makes this series therapeutic for me is getting comments, you see, so I like to get a chapter posted before I go to bed, so I can something maybe to look forward to, and I really need to go to bed.


	37. Most Distressing Almost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Try to guess how many different events in a single person's life I'm making references to.

“John, I’m sorry to bother - when is it where you are?”

“It doesn’t matter, Lafayette. What do you need?”

“I tried calling George first. George Washington. He didn’t answer. Not that I trust you less, but I worry of burdening you with -”

“Laf, whatever it is that’s got you so upset, if you need to talk about it I’m here.”

“I’m in Austria on unavoidable business because of Robespierre, and Adrienne’s just given birth early. Weeks early. I wasn’t there and they couldn’t reach me to tell me until after it was over. They say - they say Henriette - my daughter, MY DAUGHTER - has almost a good a chance of survival of full term. Almost. It’s a most distressing almost. I do not like this almost. I also don’t like that Adrienne is in the hospital for observation. What is it that they must observe? They say it’s nothing serious, but if it’s nothing, why must they observe it? I am alone in a small room in Austria, and I am not home, and I am not with my wife and family, John!”

“Hey, hey, you need to pause between sentences. Take a break.”

“Sorry.”

“Not for me. For you.”

“Ah.”

“That all sounds horrible, and I’m really sorry to hear you’re going through this. I’m not gonna promise that everything’s going to be okay, because I’m all the way over here and not a doctor. I promise that your feelings aren’t always going to be this unbearable.”

“This reminds me of some conversations - you and I, conversations we, we, well, you know. Reminds me. But switched.”

“It does. My turn. Phyllis at Vernon taught us this checklist: have you eaten enough recently?”

“Yes. Cécile-Aimée threatened to feed me with force otherwise. She’s traveling with me. She has a different hotel room.”

“Have you hydrated in the past hour?”

_”Non.”_

“Do that. Have you had at least six hours of sleep in the past twenty-four? Have you had any exercise?”

“I did some furious pacing until I got a terrible cramp in my leg. As for sleep, the moment one side of my mind begins to fall asleep, the other begins to fight, and when I fight it makes the other side panicky. What good does all this money do me? Well, I suppose if I were talking to Alexander he would point out that wealth is maximizing the healthcare quality and options.”

“Is, uh, that why you’re not talking to Alexander about this?”

“No, it’s because as a father-to-be it will not be good for his state of mind. Please tell nobody.”

“Of course.”

“Especially Pierre, for it took us far too long to reassure him how unlikely it is that he’s the biological father, and how little we mind if somehow he is.”

“Definitely won’t. Have you been able to talk to Adrienne?”

“A moment. She is tired and tearful. She has seen Henriette in the, what is the word? The warm box. Incubator. Adrienne's mother is with her, at least. It must be nice. It must be nice to have mother's love on your side. A mother who stays with you instead of running off to go to star-studded Parisian parties and snort cocaine off priceless statuettes and frolic in 18th century champagne or whatever it is she was doing whilst I grew.”

“Urgh. I’m sorry. People love you, Lafayette.”

“I know.”

“Me included.”

“I know.”

“To paraphrase something Aaron mutters when he’s thiiiiiis close to a breakdown, you are the one thing in life you can control.”

“I am the one thing in life I can control. I just drank some tea.”

“Good.”

“We should know one way or another within a week. Henriette may be able to go home as early as that. Adrienne, tomorrow. Myself, the day after the day after tomorrow, because there are certain ways in which money gets you into more trouble rather than less, at least when it makes you enemies who you must engage in complex legal and political machinations against. I think I need to play a violent video game. I’ll see if the concierge can help me rent a console.”

“Rent a consolation.”

“Ha. Haha. Yes. Wordplay. I love you dearly, John, and thank you. I need to kill a crowd of faceless soldiers without consequence, having heard this news. Assassin’s Creed 3, if they have it.”

“It gets the job done.”

“I hope Martha Manning and her wife’s visit are wonderful for you, and the wedding you will attend.”

“Thank you.”

“When are your friends coming from England?”

***

John awoke with his phone propped up next to his ear, and his sister banging on his bedroom door. “Time to get dressed and go downstairs. Your BFF’s arriving today!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the Lafayette Trauma Conga Line: The Softer Remix! (If you're reading this story straight through, be aware that this chapter was posted sufficiently long after "Lentils, Lace, and Ladies" that I decided it was worth repeating myself a smidge.)
> 
> 1\. Lafayette was in America during the birth of his second child, Anastasie, and the death of his first, Henriette. Georges was his third, and postwar, followed by Virginie. Everyone is amused by the name choice of "Georges". I haven't seen as much about "Virginie". 
> 
> 2\. The years Lafayette spent imprisoned in Austria, one of which was in solitary confinement.
> 
> 3\. His mother didn't seem that much interested in spending time with him, though I have made up the details. 
> 
> 4\. Robespierre accusing Lafayette of planning to lead a military coup was part of the ugliness that resulted in Lafayette having to flee France...and getting in trouble in Austria.
> 
> 5\. Getting shot in the leg at the battle of Brandywine (and Washington ordered the doctors to treat him as though he were Washington's son, d'awww).
> 
> Presumably in this universe, Assassin's Creed 3 has an alternate cast of characters, though it has the same setting. Lafayette just really likes this game more than others, for some reason he can't quite fathom.


	38. The Finest Balm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've only read three of Jane Austen's novels, but I looked up collections of her quotes just so I could use as many as possible when writing her dialogue. That is the kind of person I am now.

John got them a welcoming balloon at the last minute. Dr. Suriyaren said congratulatory balloons were very popular in Thailand at college graduations, including such things as giant clear balloons that had smaller balloons inside. He’d wanted to have something, and flowers felt weird.

Not a helium balloon, though, because both Alexander and Ned had Serious Thoughts about the upcoming helium shortage and the possibility that CAT scans and heavy industry might well be without valuable helium if people kept spending their finite helium resources on things like balloons. Though Ned noticed John’s eyes glazing over and suggested to Alexander that they back off. Which had led to them watching videos with people inhaling sulfur hexafluoride and their voices going super deep.

Anyway, John got them a welcoming foil balloon full of normal air, on a stick, that just said, “Yay!” He appreciated the versatility. He waved it to get their attention, as he was standing in a less-busy space a little away from the crowd. Missy had gone back to bed after making sure he was awake, so he was here on his own, until - yes! 

He felt something expand in his chest. The opposite of an anxiety attack.

Martian was dragging a carry-on suitcase in one hand, a purse slung across her body, and a wife’s hand in her other hand. She’d stopped “relaxing” her hair and now let it ploof naturally. It looked nice. She looked nice, despite being all rumpled, because of how she lit up when she saw him. Nothing could be nicer-looking than that.

Jane - also exhausted, but with such a friendly and understanding air about her that she too looked undeniably nice - laughed when Martian did the closest thing to tackling John without actually knocking him over. “Hey.”

“Yo.”

They held each other for a few seconds before John considered the other people in the world. “You promised me a spouse.”

“Get your own dang spouse.” Martian kissed him on the cheek and stepped back. “But you are permitted to say hello to mine. Jane, John. John, Jane.”

“Do we hug?” John asked. He’d spoken to Jane a few times over Skype, so it wasn’t like they were total strangers, but he didn’t want to assume. “I hope this isn’t overwhelming and stuff. Dulles is hideously busy this time of year. Could hardly park anywhere. Um.”

Jane hugged him. “It’s wonderful to meet you in person, John. Don’t worry. Nothing fatigues me except doing what I don’t like.”

“That’s a really good trait.”

Martian poked both of them. “Baggage claim. Let’s go. We brought biscuits and jam and things to distribute and they are gonna melt or get eaten by drug-sniffing dogs if we don’t hurry. And I’m hungry, and you promised to take us to...”

“A Five Guys, I know. There’s one on the way.” John had never liked how greasy the burgers were, but he’d always liked the fries and the barrels of free peanuts still in the shell - plus there were non-meat protein options - so he’d not feel bereft despite having gone vegetarian in the time since they’d last been together. 

“Jane’s never had a real American burger, like a REAL one, not a McDonalds-when-hungover one. It’s tragic.” Martian glanced at a sign and lead them in the correct direction.

“I’m afraid I have to insist on our hotel after that, though,” Jane said, “I’d like to feel a bit more human before meeting your sister for your evening ‘overlap meal’. And I’m behind on today’s writing quota, which stops for no person. I succumbed to the temptation of all those different inflight movies at my fingertips.”

“I was impressed that they managed to censor Deadpool and have anything left,” Martian put in.

“I’m working on a new book. It’s an affectionate sendup of intense thriller-romance combinations like my friends the Brontë sisters write. A young woman keeps expecting sinister things to be going on and for her boyfriend to be hiding dark secrets, but no, not really. I couldn’t sit down to write a serious romance for any reason except to save my life. Working title’s _Mepkin Abbey_ , but Martha doesn’t like it, for reasons she’s never explained.”

“I dunno, I just don’t like that title,” Martian said. “Irrationally.”

John didn’t like it either, and also didn’t know why. He decided not to get in the middle of it. “Here we are. What does your baggage look like?”

“I was hoping you’d wait until we were in a better state before asking the deep questions,” Jane said, smiling. John might not like the title of her work in progress, but he liked her a lot.

 

***

“This is obscenely good,” Jane said about halfway through her burger.

“See? See? Told you so.” 

“Manners maketh not Martha.” Jane promptly stole several fries in one go. 

Martian hissed comedically and then sipped her root beer. “So just to reiterate before the two of us crash for a few hours: your sister, who has graciously permitted us to call her Missy to help with confusion, because nobody calls me Martian but you, hasn’t been able to get time off, which means our non-wedding exposure to her will be limited. Sad. You’ve only got today, half of tomorrow, and all the day after tomorrow free. Plus the day I’m leaving.”

“I mean, we can hang out when I’m not at the office, and even do lunch. You can have a look at my office too, if you want. Lewis just needs advance notice.” Lewis was simultaneously doing worse than usual because his sobriety slip had made him start craving all over again, and better than usual because he and Clark were...making up for lost time. The combined factors were making him emotionally inconsistent. 

“Hercules has confirmed our meeting when you’ll be busy tomorrow, so that works well,” Jane said. “With you, tomorrow will be a gentle visit to your home in which Ned and Alexander will join us for dinner, correct?”

“Yes. Ned is going to swat Alexander if it starts getting too exciting while you’re still jet-lagged. Alexander’s never been outside Puerto Rico and the East Coast, so he doesn’t get how much it messes with you. Also he has a skewed conception of how sleep works in general.”

“I really, really, really want to meet these guys,” Martian said. “I’m glad I got to briefly hang out with Lafayette and Adrienne before they left.”

“Me too.” John thought about Lafayette struggling to remain calm in Austria, longing for his daughter, missing his wife. John swallowed down the emotion. John had done what he could. Lafayette was a smart man. He’d be fine. John would keep telling himself that. “Uh, so the day after is showing you to the basic obligatory sites around the National Mall, and Pierre has begged to join us for lunch at the National Museum of the American Indian, which he swears has the best cafeteria in walking distance. He has some kind of appointment in town anyway.”

“I’m happy to meet Pierre as well, especially since he won’t be at the wedding, right?” Martian started drooping a bit with sleepiness, then caught herself, jerking upright. She’d never slept well on planes, or the night before an exciting trip. 

“Right.” To Pierre, Hercules was a member of the Vernon staff he remembered fondly, and that was all. 

“I’m extremely nervous about my role at the wedding reception,” Jane said softly. “I don’t want to disappoint. An artist can’t do anything slovenly.”

“Bull. Lots of artists are super slovenly. You’re gonna be fine. All John’s seen of you is some chit-chat and infuriatingly dainty table manners, and he adores you. Look at his little freckly face.”

***

Hours later, after the ladies had time to settle into their nearby hotel and shower and nap/write, John went to pick them up and bring them to his apartment. Jane needed a few more minutes to get ready. She said, “Go on and enjoy the sunset on the lawn.”

“Everyone’s gonna be perfectly fine with how you look,” Martian said, sounding like she said this often.

“A woman looks fine for her own satisfaction alone. Now where are my earrings?”

“I want to talk to you for a sec anyway,” John said. 

In the elevator, Martian asked, “Have I done something wrong?”

“On the contrary. I want to talk to you because I realized something scary.”

They found a bench near the front door of the hotel, just outside. “Temperature’s dropped,” Martian said.

“It’s been fluctuating like whoa,” John said, wrapping his scarf more closely around his neck. The scarf Ned had paid Alexander to make for him. “Okay. When I was at Vernon I did a lot of group therapy, right? And you know how I asked you via email if you were okay with me talking about us getting the, um, the…”

“The abortion. I’ve found it helps to not treat it like a horrifying concept. I said it was, if you didn’t use my name or identifying details.”

“Yeah.” John bit his lip. “I realized on the drive here that Alexander, Pierre, and Lewis were all in the group when I talked about that, and what if they put the pieces together?”

“That’s slightly awkward, yeah, but I can live with it. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Martian squeezed his hand. 

“I’m glad Jane doesn’t glare daggers at me or something.”

Martian watched the door to see if Jane had emerged yet. “She'd never. One of the things she’s written in her advice column is ‘friendship is certainly the finest balm.’”

“She has a certain distinctive style, doesn’t she?”

“Very much so. But she isn’t wrong.”

“Nope.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I made up the word "ploof". 
> 
> \- Jane described the premise of _Northanger Abbey_ , one of the three of Austen's that I've read (it's funny and adorable). Laurens was buried at Mepkin Abbey in South Carolina. 
> 
> \- You are free to continue with whatever you've been imagining, but in case you're curious, I've started imagining Martha Manning as played by Sasha Hutchings. As in the Hamilton OBC ensemble member/swing who I have an aesthetic crush on. (Meanwhile I've started imagining Theodosia Sr. as Nicolette Robinson, as in the actor married to Leslie Odom, Jr. )


	39. My Idea of Good Company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long weekend + no travel for once = extra update. :D
> 
> I saw Moana last night, finally. I highly recommend it.

There was a cozy restaurant near the Laurens siblings’ apartment that served breakfast all day as well as standard lunch and dinner entrees during lunch and dinner. The deal was that John would pick up their guests, then come fetch Missy, and after dinner Ramzi would carpool with her to work. They did that sometimes when John needed the car. This arrangement required eating at four PM, but John was the only person there on anything resembling a normal schedule, and it meant they had the place largely to themselves.

Missy hugged Martian and Jane like she’d known them forever. John basked in the excited, happy chatter of some of his favorite women in the world. 

“You know,” Missy said as she poured syrup on her pancakes, “My brother talked about you a lot the first time he came home on break from college.”

“Oh?” Martian was halving all the cherry tomatoes in her salad before digging in.

“He made you sound really cool.”

“I hope you’re not too disappointed.”

Jane patted Martian on the back. “Nothing is more deceitful than the appearance of humility.”

“Seriously, though, I think you were the person who taught him how to really be close with someone who wasn't family. I hope that doesn’t sound insulting, Jack.

John shook his head. “I’m not good at feeling relaxed around cishet white guys, especially if abled and neurotypical, and I spent most of my time growing up surrounded by them. I guess statistically some of them probably weren’t actually cishet, but none of them let me know.”

“Do you even interact much with any cishet white guys these days?” Missy asked. She casually passed Jane the pepper. She must have noticed Jane looking around for it.

“Hm. We’re counting asexual as not straight, I assume.” So Sam was disqualified. Sam also wasn’t sure whether he was aromantic or demiromantic, and if he was demiromantic, whether it was only for women or not. “Doctor Greene might qualify, but we don’t talk about his personal life.”

Then a massive chunk of lasagna arrived. Jane eyed it like she was considering potential defensive maneuvers. “I can see why you insisted on splitting our entree, Martha.” 

“Portions be cray-cray,” Martian said. “And salty. I forgot on my last return to the States and won’t make that mistake again. Except tomorrow we’ll be eating in your home, right?”

“Right, but the boys are cooking. I hope you don’t mind that our entertaining is on the pedestrian side.”

Jane smiled. “My idea of good company is the company of clever, well-informed people who have a great deal of conversation. We’ll be content enough.”

***

The next day, John came home from work an hour early to start setting up. Missy was asleep. She’d be around for the food part, and the rest of them would continue to socialize over the array of tea and biscuits Jane and Martian had brought in their suitcases. 

Ned arrived before John went to fetch the ladies, as John had requested. “Briefing?”

John made sure everything on the stove top could manage itself for a few minutes before turning to his boyfriend. “Martian gave me the all-clear to tell you. She agrees that being transparent about these things is probably healthy for our relationship.”

Leaning back against the counter, bracing himself with his hands lightly gripping the edge, Ned’s body language was fluid and friendly. “Go ahead.”

“We’re keeping this quiet. She’s the first person I ever had sex with. We were drunk and suffering from internalized homophobia. It really messed up our friendship. It’s a really big deal that we’ve reconciled. I don’t want things to be awkward, but I think it’d be worse if you found out on your own and felt like you weren’t being kept in the loop.”

“You look so nervous. You don’t need to. C’mere.”

 

***

John ended up running late, but he gave into Ned’s request to help him put his coat on and button it properly. John had a tendency to leave it open until belatedly realizing how cold he was much later. “Did you really want dolls as a kid?” he teased.

“Dolls don’t love you back.” Ned opened the door and nudged him out. “I’ll keep an eye on the soup. Alexander might be even later than he often is. Take your time. Drive safe.”

***

“Nice to meet you, Martha. Nice to meet you, Jane. John, I, uh, I broke a bowl.”

“That’s okay, Ned, we’ve got other bowls.”

“It was the big bowl with all the soup in it?” Ned cringed. “I cleaned it up, but now we’re soupless? The rest of the dishes, and the food in them, are all fine, but the soup...”

“Oh no, how dare you not be perfect. Don’t worry about it. Just tell Alexander to stop at Trader Joe’s on the way here, and to get a carton of low-sodium tomato bisque.” They could have managed without soup, but having soup would make Ned feel better about his accident, and contributing soup would make Alexander feel better about getting held up with errands. John had gotten to know them well over the course of the past year. 

“Low-sodium is bad for him,” Ned said, not making eye contact. It had taken John about three months of dating him to realize that Ned was easygoing about almost everything except his own mistakes. Especially mistakes related to taking care of others. The signs were subtle but serious.

Alexander was perfectly capable of adding extra salt to food, or getting a salty snack or a sports drink later, but it was true that sometimes he didn’t notice if his salt levels were out of whack or if he’d gotten dehydrated. It had become more and more of an issue since his lithium dosage increased yet again in early November, after he manically pushed himself to incapacitation. He was still far off from the maximum known safe dose, though, Alexander had reassured John when he’d first shared the news. 

All John could do was love them and try his best. “Oh, right. Full-sodium. I’d do it myself, but I promised these two I’d show them my and Lewis’ book. I’m not mad, Ned.” John kissed him, and Ned relaxed a tiny bit, though not as much as John would like. 

“You are unbearably adorable,” Martian said as John led her and Jane to the coffee table. 

“We have the book at home. They are much to be pitied who haven’t been given a taste for nature early in life. But there’s nothing like a behind-the-scenes tour.” Jane opened the copy in front of her. “First of all, which illustrations were primarily yours?”

 

***

Alexander arrived very late, carrying a carton of butternut squash soup (later John determined that this was a result of hurry, excitement, and the containers looking similar), and his eyes shining. “Everyone meet the new entry-level secretarial hire of the Treasury!”

John whooped and high fived him. “Congrats, man!”

“Gotta settle paperwork and things, but I start in two weeks! Everyone else hug me! I must hug all! I called Eliza on the way, and she squeed and congratulated me, then sweetly ordered me to hang up so I could drive safely. Why is everyone in my life obsessed with me driving safely?”

“Because you’re simultaneously a genius and really bad at taking care of your health.” Ned handed him a glass of water.

Alexander drained it in twenty seconds. “Is there more?”

Missy clinked her fork against the additional, brimming glass of water at Alexander’s place at the table. He shook everyone’s hand, including the people he already knew, grinning. Then he sat down and ate like he hadn’t eaten all day. Which was plausible.

***

The temperature was either freezing or slightly above freezing the next day, depending on when, but the sun was out and the sky was deep azure. John, Jane, and Martian took the Metro into DC and walked around the obligatory monuments and memorials and the dormant cherry blossom trees. Jane carefully made sure no stranger’s faces were in the pictures she took, to respect their privacy. 

“The Martin Luther King Jr. one’s finished, hey,” Martian said with delight, leading the way. “It was under construction last time I was here. Oh my god.”

“What?” Jane asked as they approached it.

“The big statue of him has his arms folded, and he’s looking across the Tidal Basin - he’s staring right at the memorial for one of the former presidents. One of the former presidents who had slaves. That is perfect.”

When they reached the statue itself, John looked up and said, “He looks like he’s about to say that he’s not mad, just disappointed. Or maybe yes, he’s mad, but he wants to be the better person in this scenario.”

“That he expected better, maybe.” Martian looked for Jane and saw that she was walking around the curved wall forming most of a circle around them, carved with quotations from the man himself. “Did you know he was a big Star Trek fan?”

“He told the actress who played Uhura that her representing a black woman in a respected role of authority was a huge deal, yeah.”

“Remember the time we watched all the Stark Trek episodes ever that had tribbles in them? Because I’d gotten a bad grade and you wanted to cheer me up?”

“Yeah. Wait, is Jane giving someone an autograph?”

***

“When y’all - uh, you two -”

“You can say ‘y’all’, John, you used to do it all the time.”

“When you, Jane, and you, Martha -”

“Spoilsport,” Jane put in.

John laughed. “...Are on your own, the Smithsonian museums are great for wandering somewhere warm, interesting, and free of charge. We don’t have time today to look thoroughly at even one of them, though we can look shallowly at this one after lunch. All the Smithsonian cafeterias are expensive, which is fair considering the museum is free, but Pierre says this one has either Native American dishes or dishes made with common Native ingredients. Such as bison. Organized by region. He loves this museum because of his special linguistic interests, and it’s helped with his research. He’s even gotten in touch with some of the experts who’ve built exhibits. He said he’d be sitting at one of the tables close to the Pacific Northwest station.”

Pierre was indeed. He waved them over. “I hope it’s okay if I don’t get up. I had a really tiring and mildly painful morning and I need the energy to get back home.”

So it was a round of gently leaning over to hug him, and then Pierre held up some straws. “If anyone wants to try a sip of this prickly pear drink from the Central American zone, it’s really good. Oh, anyone want to help me finish this fry bread?”

John got a spicy Mexican hot chocolate and a quinoa dish prepared more authentically than he’d had before, and a little cookie-thing made of amaranth grain for dessert. 

When he rejoined the group, Pierre was leaning forward on his elbows and confiding in Jane. “I took a look at your advice column, and I’m happy you accommodate poly and non-binary and kinky and lots of other things besides your standard LGBT and straight. Can you help me with something? I don’t mind the other two hearing, just don’t go spreading it.”

“Of course,” Jane said, wiping her fingers on a napkin. “Though really, we all have a better guide in ourselves, if we would attend to it, than any other person can be. What I try to do is try to see what you are really telling yourself, and illuminate that for you.”

“Okay. So, this concerns my primary datefriend and non-primary boyfriend. I’ve known the non-primary boyfriend for longer, and he used to be my primary, but we both have new primaries now. We’re still figuring out how all that works.”

“Understood.”

“My boyfriend holds these parties on an irregular but recurring basis, always in winter, with all these traditions, right? Like one of them is flaming shots. Because winter. One of the traditions is that you have to be half-naked. Either nothing above the waist or nothing below the waist. It used to be that the only option was nothing below the waist, but then he wanted to make a dysphoric trans woman feel welcome one time, so the rule changed.”

“You have set the scene. I presume there will be another one of these parties soon.”

“Yes. Now, as a good metamour, he’s invited my datefriend as well as me. But my datefriend is non-binary and very guarded about what they look like under their clothes. Host says he can make an exception, but that results in them being fully clothed at a party where nobody else is, leading to being super self-conscious. I don’t think anybody here is in the wrong, because all the other guests really enjoy the conceit, and my datefriend isn’t upset at them. They hate the taste of almonds, and they say they wouldn’t resent the existence of a party where everything was covered in marzipan.”

“Though they might be baffled,” Martian joked.

Pierre laughed. “Yeah. Anyway, I want to go to the party, but I feel like I’m being disloyal if I do. But I feel like I’m being unappreciative if I don’t. Also, it’s sounds like a really fun party. My metamour says it doesn’t count as an orgy, legally, if everyone’s wearing socks, but I’ve learned not to trust him. My boyfriend says that actually there's no outright sex, though there's sexiness, as it were.”

Martian finished another bite of salmon. “Depends where the socks are being worn.”

“What has your datefriend said about you going to the party?” Jane asked.

“They said go for it, and they’ll have a quiet night and hear all about it later.”

“This answer isn’t enough?”

Licking a bit of honey off his thumb, Pierre said, “They owe me a really big debt. Really big. Massive. A bigger debt than anyone has ever owed me. It’s brought us closer, but I keep being afraid that it’s caused imbalance in our relationship, too. It’s hard to know if they don’t really mind, or if they’re just saying it.”

“You sound more upset about what you just said than you were when describing the initial quandary. Consider if that’s the true issue you need to address. Meanwhile, imagine your positions reversed. Would you want them to go to the party?”

“Yes.”

Jane opened her hands, palm up, like she was releasing a butterfly from each one.

 

***

Pierre excused himself to go to the bathroom and John noticed he was wobbly, so John excused himself as well.

“Want support?” John asked when they were out of earshot. When Pierre nodded, he put an arm around his waist. 

“Thanks. Friedrich took me to the first appointment, right after the bowling tournament actually, but he’s busy today and Chev’s got class. I mean, I’ve got class too, but the first few treatments are on a very strict schedule. Then they’ll get less frequent and less precise. Do you notice anything different about me?”

John looked at Pierre’s hair in case of a haircut, exposed skin in case of new tattoos, ears in case of piercings, fingernails in case of manicure (why not?)...then it hit him.

“You haven’t ticced all lunch. At all.”

“I know!” Pierre’s smile took up an improbable proportion of his face. “I still have a few physical tics, but as of just the second treatment, the verbal tics are gone. It’s experimental. I’m actually getting some money for it, but that’s not the reason I’m doing it.”

“What are the downsides?” John knew enough about the worlds of psychiatry and neuroscience to know that there had to be downsides.

“They have to inject the drug right between two vertebrae with a huge needle. And I’ve started screaming and crying in my sleep a few nights a week, despite not remembering any dreams the next morning. Waking me up just makes the episode start up again the next time I drop off.” Pierre shrugged. “It’s worth it for me, and my partners and I are figuring out workarounds. I’m not throwing away these shots.”

“Here’s the bathroom,” John said. He resisted the temptation to wrap Pierre in a protective clutch. Pierre had other people who did that.

***

There was one moment when John caught a glimpse of the gauze taped to the back of Pierre’s neck, right at the bottom of the cervical spine, before the thoracic spine began. It was when he to get off at the subway stop to connect to the commuter train, then eventually reach the station where Chev would come get him and take good care of him. Pierre fiddled with the collars of his sweater and jacket, briefly showing the bandage. 

“I can’t believe that went by so quickly,” Pierre said, getting up and hanging onto a pole. The energy from digesting lunch was helping him. “It was wonderful to meet you.”

“A watch is always too fast or too slow,” Jane agreed.

“Enjoy the party,” Martian said, blowing him a kiss. 

The doors opened and Pierre rushed for them. “Enjoy the wedding!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I currently have to drink at least twice as much water as normal people so my body can process the Lithium without it messing up everything else, and sometimes I hate this (I get thirsty about every 20 min), hence the detail with Alexander. The salt cravings are also me. 
> 
> \- In real life, the MLK Jr Memorial is glaring at the Jefferson Memorial. It's kinda glorious.
> 
> \- A drug with the exact properties of what Pierre is trying out doesn't exist, but it's inspired by properties of real ones I have researched. I am laying the groundwork for an upcoming story in the "Our Agency" spinoff series.


	40. So Eager to Meet Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays!

My dearest John,

((Thank you again for lending a kind ear to outpour my distress towards in my time of fear and doubt. The contents of the English version of a mass e-mail I have just sent is below.))

We joyfully announce the birth of our daughter Henriette. She was so eager to meet us that she rushed her arrival, and consequently will need a little more devotion and attentiveness than the majority of her peers. We are glad to give it. She is home and settling in well. Please no well-wishing visitors until otherwise stated, to give her time to rest and grow.

To answer a frequently asked question: Handmade and intangible gifts are welcome. Those desiring to give gifts that cost money, please instead donate to Unicef (aiding children), Doctors Without Borders (aiding the sick), and/or Amnesty International (aiding victims of unjust imprisonment, especially political, which is unrelated to Henriette but important to us). We have all the material goods anyone could possibly need.

Thank you for loving us, and all your support. We love you.

[A picture of Adrienne in a hospital bed holding a tiny baby wrapped in a white blanket and warm yellow hat, Lafayette sitting in a chair beside them and looking at them with gratitude and wonder.]

[A picture of Lafayette curled up on a couch, presumably at the château, cuddling Henriette against his chest in the crook of a single distractingly muscled arm, while petting the hair of a drowsy-looking Adrienne.]

[A picture of both of them "asleep" on that couch, a woman in nurse's scrubs holding Henriette and a woman in a maid-like outfit putting a blanket over the parents, both with expressions of longsuffering.]

***

Dear Lafayette,

I’m really relieved and happy for you. It’s great that you’re committed to helping Henriette and being positive about it. For what it’s worth, though it was a very different situation, my youngest brother sustained brain damage at the age of three from a fall and needed help getting back from that. I don’t talk about it much, but if talking about that would make you feel better, I will. It’s different with you.

***

My dearest John,

I might well ask at some point. They are saying she will have delays. But she’s alive. And she likes wrapping her fingers around my smallest finger. That is very much.

***

Laf,

I agree. (Hug)

If you don’t mind switching gears, I’m going to Hercules’ “Bridegroom Bash”. It’s not called a bachelor party because Hercules and Elsie take issue with a lot of the underlying assumptions behind classic bachelor/bachelorette parties, such as that all your close friends are of the same gender as yourself, that it’s is a "last night of freedom", that lots of booze shortly before an important ceremony is an awesome idea, and that strippers are cake-based lifeforms. 

However, Hercules wants a chance for his friends who didn't know each other to mix and mingle a bit before they had to mix and mingle with all the other guests at the reception. He wants to casually hang out with a bunch of people he hadn't seen in ages, too.

So there’s going to be a big room with snacks, drinks, and karaoke. Apparently we’ve got some really great singers in our midst? My question to you is, should I sing? I kinda wanna, but also kinda don’t. Alexander and Martian will be at the reception but not this. They’re the two people who are best at getting me out of my comfort zone.

You’ve always been good at turning things into my comfort zone when they weren’t before.

John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will have actual links to the actors singing. Multimedia! ^_^


	41. Sing for My Amusement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you watch only one of the linked videos, watch the last one (Sam's). It's what made me decide to do this chapter this way. I've been planning this since before posting chapter 10 or so of this fic. It's an amazing video and gives me much feels.
> 
> Re: parties, I recently read Peter Stephen du Ponceau's autobiography of his early life. I will squee more about it as time goes on (what an absolutely adorkable genius sweetheart). I just want to say here that he mentions the pantsless parties, and says the flaming shots were called Salamanders. Now you know.

John and Missy went to the Bridegroom Bash together. Jane couldn't show herself around any non-Laurens wedding guests and spoil the dramatic effect of her appearance at the reception. Martian elected to do more sightseeing with her that day and spend the evening relaxing as Jane fulfilled her daily writing quota. Jane had fulfilled her writing quota the day she'd given birth, let alone a trifling vacation day. Though she freely admitted that her immediately post-labor output hadn't been very good.

"I've still got homework to do and won't be drinking, so if you want to get tipsy, go ahead," Missy told John as they approached the entrance. "And see if someone will give you a ride home if I end up wanting to leave before you do."

"Good idea. I heard that alcohol and substantial food will cost money but soft drinks and snacks are free." John held the door open for her. "I think it's a smart way to organize the party if you don't have a huge budget but also want to be hospitable."

A man roughly Hercules' age, maybe a slightly older, reached out from the other side of the threshold and took over door-holding duties. "Sounds like you're feeling inclined to enjoy the Bash. Welcome."

Missy snorted. "You're so obviously in the mental healthcare field."

"What makes you so sure? I don't think we've met. Oh, there's a coat closet over there; we're not responsible for lost items."

"You started a sentence with 'it sounds like you...', then extrapolated John's emotional state based on what he'd said, in a pleasant but neutral tone of voice. You're also casually carrying a clipboard and a pen in one hand while paying close attention to us."

He laughed. “Guilty as charged. It’s got the guest list. I’m Ben Tallmadge, the Best Man. And you are?”

They announced themselves, he checked them off, and waved them on. 

***

The only other guests present who John knew were Cato, Israel, Sam and the Schuyler sisters. Molly had been invited, but was on vacation. Phyllis and York were invited in theory, but someone had to actually be on the job right now. Sam was sitting with Ben, though he came over to say hello. The Schuyler sisters knew everybody and never stayed in one place for long. After saying hi to them, he ended up sitting with the two guys at one of the small tables facing the stage. He wanted to slowly dole out his gregariousness over the course of the evening. Whereas Missy knew a few of the others and was in a sociable frame of mind anyway. He glanced around every once in awhile to make sure she was still circulating happily. 

“I’ll buy you a drink,” Israel offered John when he saw John glance in the direction of the cash bar. 

John grinned. “Aren’t you going to make someone jealous?”

“Well, there’s this dude who’s really hot and I’ve been trying to buy him a drink for ages, but no dice.”

“Tough luck.”

Cato finished his sparkling mineral water and slid the glass over to his boyfriend. “You could fetch me another one of these, loud but attractive stranger.”

“SENPAI NOTICED ME.”

“I permit you to also get John a serving of sinful liquor if he wishes.”

“SENPAI IS GENEROUS.”

“Stop yelling.” Cato gave Israel an affectionate shove.

***

“Hey! People! I need no introduction. If I do need an introduction, you are at the wrong event and Tally has f’ed up the guest list.” Hercules was on stage in front of the microphone stand, looking even more expansive than usual. 

“You can’t demand that something be done secretly and then be picky about whether I’ve been communicating enough with you about the particulars of your sort-of-surprise-but-not-really,” Ben retorted, waving a cocktail napkin for emphasis. “Besides, Cato did a lot of the grunt work.”

Cato gave a theatrical sigh. “Is anyone surprised?” 

“Yes, thank you to my Best Man and my Unofficial but Very Excellent Dude. Thank you for coming! A few announcements pertaining to this event. The karaoke is optional, and so is pretending you like other people’s renditions of songs. Just don’t be mean. If you really want to accompany yourself on the piano in the corner instead, that is an option. No repeats until we’re sure that everyone who wants to sing has sung at least once. No repeats of songs, either. Sorry.”

Nathan, who’d joined John’s table a few minutes ago, said in joking sadness, “I regret that I’ve only got one song to sing for the benefit of a karaoke party.”

“Then get the other person who wants to sing it to do a duet if there’s a clash,” Hercules said. “Also, some of you know this, but it’ll put some of my coworkers’ song choices in context: I’m quitting my job at Vernon because Elsie is starting up her own costume and dressmaking shop and she wants to be business partners. But ‘Fight Shift’ won’t be left in a lurch, because Cato has leveled up from Tech to Nurse form! They’re interviewing for a new regular tech for that time slot, in case you enjoy the thought of prowling around hallways at 2 AM.”

John had been distantly aware that Cato was taking classes, but he hadn’t been following his progress. Cato was very tight-lipped about himself. “Congrats, man!” 

Cato beamed and ate a bite-size sandwich.

“Aaron Burr couldn’t be here this evening, but he and Theodosia understand that the real purpose is for people to sing for my amusement. They sent a video. Let the projector screen descend!”

[John hadn’t known that Aaron and Theodosia were, frankly, phenomenal singers. Missy had mentioned that Theodosia got a wig for Christmas. He liked their rendition of Rihanna’s “Stay” better than the original. ](http://youtu.be/w-u4BeZgyLw)

The gauntlet had been thrown.

***

[Angelica, Eliza, and Peggy presented them with a clearly rehearsed a cappella number that was also suitable for the theme of Hercules leaving. John filmed it on his phone so that just in case nobody else had, Alexander wouldn’t wail as much about missing it.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pBbgdno5uwo)

Because Alexander wasn’t there, and also because they were good, and also because being on meds made him a total lightweight, John whooped when the trio finished. “All right, all right! That’s what I’m talkin’ about!”

***

A few, less polished numbers later, John started wanting to get up there. But also not. He wavered back and forth.

Nathan, who’d been quietly watching and applauding at appropriate intervals, cleared his throat. “I don’t so much get stage fright as stage perfectionism. Like if you say or sing something well in public, everyone’ll remember you for it, and the same if it’s bad. You know?”

“I get that.” By this point John had drunk himself daring and slightly giggly. He’d switched to cranberry seltzer with lime without anyone telling him to. He got annoyed when Missy or Ned advised him to do something he was just about to do. Well, anyone else, as well, but those were the most likely culprits. “Wanna duet? That way if it sucks, it could well be my fault.”

“You don’t strike me as the self-sacrificing type.”

“You strike ME as the self-sacrificing type. Come prop me up, man. Nobody’s gonna die onstage. What’s the one song you’re up to do?”

“‘Don’t Stop Believing’ by Journey.”

[John gave a thumbs-up. “Let’s get this kid in front of a crowd.” Time to take a shot.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RQgH56sgelo)

(Though not literally; he didn’t want this to get past the fun point. One moment you’re talking about how you want to go snorkeling in New Zealand, the next you’re weeping and trying to call your ex in Switzerland.)

The crowd seemed entertained enough. Sam high-fived him on the way back to his seat.

***

Sam had apparently gotten his cast removed only three days earlier, and being fully mobile again was making him look so cheerful, it also made him look like a gleeful kid at certain angles rather than the thirtysomething he was supposed to resemble. 

After many people had gone, and there was a bit of a lull, Sam got up. “I hope nobody minds if the wedding officiant takes a turn. I’m not usually invited to the parties beforehand. Can I play the piano?”

“I dunno, can you?” someone yelled. General chuckles and/or facepalms ensued.

[“I’m excited to sing tonight, you guys…” Sam went to the piano, sat down, and adjusted the microphone. He told them that he was surrounded by amazing talent, and that he hadn’t played and sung simultaneously for a long time, and a few other self-deprecating yet upbeat things before he started.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=20FQwg0J9KY&feature=youtu.be)

It might have been the alcohol, and it was definitely his more personal knowledge of what Sam had gone through, but John had never found something so simultaneously heartbreaking and heartwarming. 

_I don’t want to be afraid of midnight anymore._

***

He ran into Sam when seeing if there were any more of what John could only think of as ‘addictive pie rhombuses’. Sam had the last two. 

“Oh, hello, would you like the other one? I can verify that nothing here is poisoned with mind-control drugs, except I don’t know about that open yet full can of Diet Pepsi.”

John accepted the other addictive pie rhombus. “If it’s not poisoned, it might have spit in it or something.”

Sam nodded like this was new and vital insight. “Yes.”

“I liked your singing.”

“Thank you! It’s not a top hit but it means something to me. How are you? What about that business a few months ago that was upsetting you?”

“That’s a lot better, thanks.” Though seriously, didn’t Clark have other hobbies or something? John had given up on being able to reliably contact Lewis outside office hours.

Sam swept his hands around the room. “Think about the first time I saw you!”

“I know. Wow. Look at where we are.”

“Look at where we started. Yesterday I went swimming at my apartment building’s indoor pool without a shirt on. Told myself I’d do it when I got the cast off. Nobody said anything.”

“Can I hug you?”

“Yes, but please be...I think you know. Yes, you know. I’ll be all dressed up and a few feet away on a different sort of stage next time I see you, I suppose.”

“Looking forward to it.” John hugged him, careful not to touch his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I might finish this fic in time for New Year's. :O
> 
> Good luck to Okierete Onaodowan, last core member of the original Broadway cast to leave the show! Happy Trails! (Though Thayne is still there, and possibly some of the other ensemble-members-who-do-cameos.)
> 
> I haven't watched any of Turn, but for any of you who are in that fandom, I give you the logic that Tallmadge would be a fitting person to organize anything involving one of the spies who reported to him. I hope you read that and call it good.
> 
> Nathan here is Nathan Hale, famous for saying "I regret that I have but one life to lose for my country," before being executed for spying on the British. I needed someone to be in that video with "John". This version survived past the age of 21.


	42. and tomorrow and tomorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, everyone.
> 
> Thank you for coming along with me.
> 
> ***
> 
> I've begun a new fic that's part of the Our Agency spinoff series rather than Time Out of Mind. Too different in many ways, and Lafayette will be the only Hamilton character. Plotwise, it's going to be a sequel to Three Days Already (if you're reading linearly rather than in update order, that's the fic right after this), though the first chapter will take place right after Pierre headed home from hanging out with John, Jane, and Martian a few chapters ago. 
> 
> Upshot: if you're interested, and also subscribed to this series, be aware that you'll have to make a separate subscription to get notifications for [and hold your tongue ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9142921/chapters/20772706)
> 
> Meanwhile, a wedding. On with the show!

“Do you remember having sex with me?”

John kept his eyes on the road as he processed Martian’s question. Missy and Ramzi were going to the wedding together, Jane had been whisked away by the Best Man and his machinations, and Ned and Alexander were doubtless taking turns lovingly insulting/soothing each other in Alexander’s car. That meant it was just him and his old friend on the way there. 

“We did what?!”

She snorted and smacked his arm. “I mean the act itself. Do you remember? We were both pretty trashed.”

“I remember mostly being worried,” he said honestly. “I mean, I must have physically, uh, there must have been some parts my body liked, at least, otherwise we wouldn’t have had the result we did. But I mostly remember being worried. I remember being mostly worried. I feel like the three configurations mean slightly different things, but all are accurate.”

He also remembered thinking that her hair smelled like freshly mowed grass. Which was a good smell, but not from the perspective of the grass.

“I remember that you kept asking if you were doing it right. I felt like shaking you and asking you how on Earth I should know.” She was in a nicely tailored gray suit with a white shirt, which she used for both business trips and formal occasions that didn’t get grumpy about women in suits. It looked nicer than John’s suit. Getting stuff tailored brought back memories of his father telling him he’d folded the pocket square wrong. 

Unlike her, though, he had a necktie, a present from Ned’s mother. Green and blue with tiny turtles in diagonal lines. Ned told him she’d been seriously overthinking it until he told her to just default to turtle/tortoise motifs, and that John genuinely needed more ties. 

“You made me drink some water before I fell asleep because you didn’t want me to wake up embarrassed AND dehydrated.”

“Did I really? I thought I made up that part.”

“It was sweet of you.”

Martian gave him a half-smile. “You were a pretty good kisser.”

“Thanks. I like to think I’ve improved since then. What brought this on?”

“I was just thinking how incredibly, stupendously, unutterably glad I am that you’re driving me to a friend’s wedding, and not away from our own.”

John felt a shiver go through him. Like someone had walked over his grave, as their head gardener used to say back in Charleston. “Me too.”

***

The wedding and reception were in the same charming lodge. It was in view of a slender stretch of the Potomac. The area where the wedding party stood would later double as the stage for the DJ, MC, and designated picturesque corner for indoor selfies. Some guests were taking pictures on the lawn outside, the backdrop a pretty building when facing one way and the smooth river when facing the other. 

It was a cold, gray day, but the interior was warm and softly lit. Each folding chair had a program on it. John found Ned, who was sitting with Alexander and Eliza. He spotted Missy and Ramzi over with some of Ramzi’s friends.

John had discreetly determined that Ned would have been welcome to wear a dress, but Ned decided he didn’t know enough people at this wedding to be comfortable with that. Maybe at Alexander’s. His suit was nicer than John’s, too. He slipped his hand into John’s when John sat down, and squeezed it. Martian sat on John’s other side, at the end of the row.

Alexander’s suit may have been nice, in an unusual dark green, but Alexander himself looked like he hadn’t slept all night. Ever. Eliza and Ned both looked serene, though, which meant it wasn’t as dire as that. Either that or they both had serious wedding fever. He part-climbed over Ned to hug John like John would make sense of everything. Manners. Tax returns. What you called the plastic things on the ends of shoelaces (“aglets”, according to Pierre). The Higgs Boson. Why walnut bits sometimes squeak when you bite through them in pastries. 

“I have a task for myself today, which is to take note of what words are used most commonly during the service. So that I can look up those words in ASL for Thom and Liz’s wedding. They’ll have interpreters for the Sign-impaired, but I want to be able to follow along on my own as much as I can.”

“Great idea.”

“Do you have paper? Eliza gave me a pen, but I don’t have paper. I want to have my phone off out of respect.”

Martian passed over an old envelope. “Here. Jane’s always suddenly asking for paper.”

Alexander grabbed it, thanked her, and receded.

***

It wasn’t Sam who stood there behind a podium, or what John’s conception of Rev Sam based on Sam’s stories. It was definitely Reverend Samuel Seabury. He stood as tall as he was capable of standing - not that it was much, but it was noticeable - in a black minister outfit (John didn’t know the terminology for that exact time) with the slip of a white collar visible. It fit him. In more than one way.

“I’d like to say a few words before we begin the ceremony. I promise it’ll be a few. Among this crowd, even if it’s small compared to some weddings, I’m certain the cumulative wisdom goes far beyond mine. There are things that the homilies and hymns won’t teach you.”

He faltered for a second. There was a catch in his voice. “Not all of you know that I met Hercules Mulligan during what might well have been the most difficult time of my life. Certainly in the top five. Several of the guests here, as well. I met Elizabeth Sanders some time later, when she opened up her home to me when I was hurt and sick. All they asked was to say a few words. To confirm things about them that all of us, who have known them for even a few minutes, must surely already know. There is devotion and generosity in this room. There is courage in this room. There is faith of many kinds, towards many things, and things that I find worthy, even if they perhaps do not exactly match my own.”

“The world is full of people who do not have your interests at heart. People who claim to speak for you, but do not. People who - people who you think are friends, who turn your loyalty against you.”

Alexander made a noise in his throat. Eliza kissed his cheek and pulled him a little closer.

“Hercules and Elizabeth are not such people. All the good things in this room have been assembled to celebrate this couple and all they represent. I could talk of God and mercy, shame and redemption, until you started making paper airplanes out of your programs and chucking them at me. I don’t need to. If you’re someone they want to be right here, right now, someone who made the cut, I trust you know as much about the truly important parts as I do. Let’s move on to what you’re really waiting for.”

He opened up the book that had been lying flat on the podium. He cleared his throat. “Dearly beloved…”

***

The bridesmaids wore matching colors, but their dresses were all different styles, suiting their body types and presumably tastes. They’d probably be happy to wear them again at other events. John liked that.

One of them started sniffling, tears sliding down her cheeks in the direction of her genuine, awestruck smile.

Hercules looked like he would have been copying that bridesmaid if he hadn’t bolstered himself with machismo. Elsie leaned towards him unconsciously. Gravitational pull.

***

When the ceremony was over, doors leading to the dining room were opened. Everyone had little name cards at a designated seat. There’d been a questionnaire about whether you wanted “land meat”, “water meat”, or “non-meat”, plus one about whether you wanted to toast with champagne, sparkling cider, sparkling water, or “original formula water”. 

John’s table had Martian, Ned, Alexander, Eliza, Peggy, Missy, and Ramzi. Ned sat on one side of John, Martian on the other, and Alexander was directly across from him. Hard to tell which of the couple had arranged the menu and the venue, but this made it abundantly clear that Hercules had arranged at least some of the seating. Servers flitted around pouring the correct beverages into glasses as everyone found their seats and chatted. 

“Why is Angelica at a different table?” Missy asked.

Peggy rolled her eyes. “Because we begged Hercules to get us away from John Church’s tendency to discuss his new high-fiber diet.”

“He’s a good husband and father. But yeah. Benefits of eating more dietary fiber. At length.” Eliza eyed her champagne like the very thought of her brother-in-law being the Least Interesting Man in the World was driving her to drink.

Ben the Best Man, who was standing on one side of the doors, pinged his champagne glass with a spoon. “We have a special toast to begin with. I apologize to any of you who are planning a really cool toast and will subsequently feel upstaged. Please welcome the popular online advice columnist and cult hit romance novelist, Jane Austen!”

Elsie gasped. “YOU ARE FUCKING KIDDING ME - oh, sorry, Grandma.”

Jane entered the room, in a white dress with pink and silver accessories that complemented Martian’s suit. She’d been informed that the bride would wear red and didn’t need to worry about wearing white. She had a microphone. “Hello. I can promise I’m not kidding you. I don’t consider myself the best at public speaking, but on the bright side, that means I cannot speak well enough to be unintelligible.”

“Ben didn’t threaten your family or something, right?” Elsie asked.

“No, he took advantage of the fact that one of your guests is a friend of my wife’s.”

Martian waved. “Hi. Thanks to everyone who donated enough money that I got to tag along, come back, and visit this dude here.” She pointed to John. 

“So a whole bunch of you knew about this?” Elsie seemed so delighted that it made her slightly angry, the way fans sometimes are about plot twists.

“Every man is surrounded by a neighborhood of voluntary spies. I’ll sit with you after I’m done with my toast, Elsie, and you can pelt me with questions then.” Jane smiled gently. “Let’s see. I regret that I haven’t had much of an opportunity to get to know you personally. Your husband painted a glowing portrait of you over our planning session, though. Which is only right. Let other pens dwell on guilt and misery, I always say.”

John noticed a few guests whispering to each other about who exactly this was. 

“I had a hidden vantage point to watch the ceremony, and so I’ll focus on something different than Reverend Seabury’s words. I write about romantic love a great deal. It’s not the only thing that’s important to me, though. Weddings inspire us to celebrate our love for the couple as well as our love for each other. Many kinds of love brought me here. Many kinds of love has assembled this group.”

She talked for a while longer, probably wanting to give everyone their money’s worth. She never stopped being a tiny bit nervous. She also never stopped being clear and true.

***

Martian went to join Jane at the bride and groom's table. Over their food, Peggy, Missy, and Eliza gave each other a significant glance. Peggy said, “Hey, guys? We ladies have a thought about the upcoming roommate problem, once Alexander moves in with Eliza. Still can’t live with Sybil because of logistics, for now at least. Sybil couldn’t even make it today. I’m still healing from breaking off an engagement, too.”

“You did the best you could with Stephen,” Eliza said, giving Peggy a one-armed hug. 

“And Ramzi’s not ready for his kids to have Daddy’s girlfriend living in his house when they visit, which is fine,” Missy said.

Ramzi paused mid-chew and hid his mouth behind his napkin. “I really appreciate how understanding you are about that, by the way.” 

“If you seriously prioritized me, your girlfriend of a few months, over your children, I would break up with you immediately for being a bad father,” Missy said.

Peggy resumed, “But everyone except Ramzi needs to pay rent.”

“I’ve got a mortgage,” Ramzi murmured mildly.

“What maybe we could do is a rotation. Alexander moves in with Eliza, I move in with Missy, and…” Peggy paused. “...John moves in with Ned.”

“This is just an idea, John, and you’re not letting anybody down if you’re not comfortable with it,” Eliza hastened to say.

Ned just said, “Usual disclaimers, cariño.” By which he meant that he’d love it if John wanted to, but he would at worse be mildly wistful if John said no.

John took a look around the room. Cato and Israel. Theodosia and Aaron (he should go greet them at some point). George and Martha Washington (ditto). Martian and Jane. Alexander and Eliza. Hercules and Elise. Even Angelica and John Church. Eliza told John once that the two of them had eloped, one grand dramatic gesture to see him through. 

Doctor Warren had won the raffle for Doctor Morris’ leg painting. The man walked by. He’d hiked up one pant leg so the artificial leg was visible. It said in graffiti-style script, WHAT WOULD BE ENOUGH?

“Yeah.” John said. “Sounds neat.”

***

When the dance music started up, John found himself a little dizzy. He excused himself. He went to the bathroom, but still felt a little dizzy. It was cold outside. He found a storage closet full of napkins and tablecloths and went inside. He left the door a tiny bit open for light and air.

He didn’t feel panicky. Just like his head was full, and his chest was warm and open, something loopy and odd about it all. 

Alexander found him. “If you want to be alone I’ll leave you, and if you want Ned I’ll go get him. Or someone else. Unless you want Lafayette, in which case I would certainly hope you felt better before I finished getting him over here. Ned agreed that I might be better at empathizing.”

“Join me inside.”

“I hope this doesn’t become my new trend every time I go to a big gathering from now on.” Alexander took John’s hand as he entered. He leaned carefully on a pile of white cloth. “Just don’t leave lipstick kiss marks on me. What’s up?”

John described his symptoms as best he could. Alexander helped him eliminate various things that had previously made John hide until feelings went back to normal.

Eventually, Alexander said, “It sounds like you’re happy.”

“What? I’ve been happy recently.”

“Yes, but now you’re happy and surrounded by people who are happy, and you just made a big decision you were all nervous about and suddenly it makes you happy, and there’s a sense of rightness, and progress, and things not coming full circle but going full spiral staircase. It’s a terrifying feeling if you’re used to nothing but smaller happiness. I know. You’re like a miner who’s been surviving off slim veins of gold. Now you’ve hit the motherlode and you don’t have room to carry it.”

“Nice analogy.”

“Thanks. I came up with it in therapy the first time it happened to me. When you have something to prove and nothing to lose, you face an endless uphill climb. Now you’ve hit a peak and you feel vertigo. That’s okay. It’s okay to not know what to do with intense emotion, even if it’s positive. Harness it if you can. Otherwise ride it out. To be a functioning adult with Bipolar Disorder, you learn that.”

John opened the door slightly more. Let in more light. “It’s not gonna last.”

“Nope.” Alexander shrugged and smiled.

“Got advice?”

“Dance with your boyfriend, dance with your gal pal who taught you how to dance, and save a dance for me. Hey, what time is it? I took off my watch to entertain lil’ klepto Theo and she ran off with it.”

"What time is it?" John let himself hear the music. He pushed open the door and ushered Alexander into the light with him. “Showtime!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From [and hold your tongue ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9142921/chapters/20772706)
> 
> ***  
> “It’s not just about Tourette’s, you know, it’s about all sorts of disorders involved with language. Kind of. It’s more specific than that, but that gets into the whole ‘either they haven’t told me or I’m not allowed to tell you’ zone. They’re starting with people who have neurological issues but are still great at communicating. You wouldn’t want to rely on someone with, like, severe aphasia to describe subjective symptoms to a new drug.”
> 
> Chev patted Pierre’s leg before quickly returning their hand to the steering wheel. “If it makes the language part of your brain better, I’m slightly worried about what’s going to happen next. They know what you’re like already, right?”
> 
> “What do you mean? Oh! Oh! See that building over there? If you have time soon, they’re showing a few two-bedrooms that fit the price range you said you could manage 50/50. Maybe two-bedrooms so you can retreat from my slumbering shrieking side effects if you need to. Guest room/office/rec room/library otherwise. I took notes on the specs, but I wrote them in my diary, which is sometimes in English and sometimes in French but all transliterated into Korean letters. So I’ll, uh, write new notes for you.”
> 
> At the moment, it was more fun to bask in Pierre’s obliviousness than to ask why he wrote his diary in Korean letters. He didn’t speak Korean. Chev said only, “That’s what I’m talking about.” 
> 
> Pierre still looked confused - again, happy, but very tired. Chev decided they wanted their boyfriend to eat and then spend ages in a hot bubble bath before they’d endorse him doing any homework whatsoever. Take a peek at how the hypodermic injection site looked by now. They turned onto Pierre’s street. 
> 
> Chev’s contract for their new job outlined a number of...creative...things that would happen to them if they slipped. Things their friendship with Reinette and being a metamour with Friedrich would not prevent. Living with a brilliant person they loved and felt a powerful impulse to fuss over was going to make secrecy much less simple. To say the least.
> 
> What the hell. Chev wasn’t into simplicity.


End file.
